The Professor's Discretion
by Twelve Years in Azkaban
Summary: The only thing keeping Hermione out of trouble and Harry Potter alive is... the Professor's Discretion. AU.
1. Hermione

_The only thing keeping Hermione out of trouble is..._

**The Professor's Discretion**

**Chapter One**

"Harry, you _can't_," insisted Hermione Granger with her usual officiousness. "The Order won't let you leave Grimmauld Place unescorted!"

"I don't plan on telling them I'm leaving," said Harry mulishly.

"But Harry, that's so dangerous. There is a reason they've gone through so much trouble to keep you protected," she persisted.

"Er-My-Nee," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "You don't expect us to sit around here and let them keep treating us as children, do you?"

"Of course not, Ron. I'm saying that it's too risky. What will they do if they discover all three of us have gone missing? They'd keep us on an even shorter lead, and use it as an excuse to exclude us from the Order for being reckless and childish. Don't argue; you know it's true. Your mother, Ronald, will use any excuse to get you, all of us, out of danger."

It was true, the Weasley Matriarch had protested violently when at the end of the summer before their seventh year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had requested to be fully inducted Order Members. Gathered around the kitchen table and Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a heated debate had ensued, ending in a vote being taken. The result being 12 in favour, 4 against, and one abstention.

This surprised them. They had assumed that the Potions Master would have firmly voted against their admittance to the Order, but instead he hadn't said a word, nor voted either way. He simply watched the proceedings with those keen black eyes.

That had been five months ago. Now it was the Christmas holidays and despite their Order Member status, they were still being kept cooped up in Headquarters and given nothing to do but their homework. Well, of course they wouldn't settle for that. They had been secretly working on a project on their own. It had required many late nights under the invisibility cloak reading books from the restricted section. Of course, there wasn't much information at all on Horcruxes, but they were determined.

The current dilemma was getting ingredients for a potion they wanted to try brewing, ingredients that certainly weren't in the student cupboard at Hogwarts.

"I'll have to go get it myself," she announced to the boys. "You two can't leave without being noticed. I can just say that I'm going to visit my parents for a time. Once I'm there, I can Apparate to Diagon Alley and back, then come back to Headquarters next day, or maybe even that night."

"But Hermione, you're a... you know."

"No, Ronald, enlighten me." His last grand pronouncement of that sort had been, '_You're a girl.' _She was hardly expecting anything more insightful this time.

"You're a Muggleborn. It's not safe for you to be out on your own these days."

She forbore to roll her eyes. He was 'blood traitor' and best friend to 'The Boy Who Lived.' She wouldn't be in any more danger than he would. What was more, she was no slouch with a wand, better than Ron, anyway. "I'll go under the invisibility cloak while I'm in the alley. I'll just pop into the shop, see if they have it, and if they do, I'll take it off, buy it, and leave again. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Let Harry or me go with you, Mione," said Ron.

"If Harry comes, they will send another Order member for his protection. If you come, no doubt your mother would come, too, to visit my parents. No, Ron. My going alone is the only way it will work."

"Today, then? It's already getting dark," Harry pointed out.

"The shops will still be open," said Hermione. "I want to get this done as soon as possible."

Actually, Hermione had an ulterior reason for wanting to go that evening and by herself. She was looking for more than just bicorn horn and hellebore (the latter could be found at Hogwarts but none of them had any on them _now_), but also Runespoor eggs and Re'em blood for her own personal project. The eggs were flat out illegal, and while the Re'em blood wasn't, it was so rare as to be very difficult to find on the open market. A subtle question to Fred and George, as to where they managed to acquire their Instant Darkness Powder ingredients from, gave her the name of a small establishment on Knockturn Alley, along with a wink and a plea not to tell their mother.

.

The plan went off without a hitch. The mere mention of Hermione missing her mother was enough to set up the floo for a quick visit to her parents.

"Say hello to them for me, dear."

"I will, Mrs. Weasley."

She felt odd. Many Order members were in the sitting room discussing things, and it was clear that they all stopped their conversation while Hermione was there to use the fireplace. For a few brief moments, all eyes were on her. With a dash of floo powder, and a flash of green flames, Hermione was spinning and whirling away from London and back to Kent and her parents' house.

She tumbled forward onto the carpet of the sitting room. (Muggle fireplaces simply weren't built for flooing, too small.) Getting up and brushing herself off, she called, "Mum? Dad? Are you home?"

"Hermione?" came her mother's pleased voice.

"We're in the kitchen," her father called.

She followed the sound of her parents' voices. "Hi, mum, dad."

"We didn't know you were coming to visit," said her mother, coming over to give her a tight hug. "I thought you were staying with Harry and Ron."

"I missed you," she explained, squirming slightly at this. It wasn't a lie, exactly. She _did_ miss her parents, but had she not needed those potions ingredients, she wouldn't be visiting. "I thought I'd pop over for a little bit."

Her mother hugged her again, making Hermione feel even worse.

Dinner was ready and the Grangers entreated their daughter to eat with them. Hermione agreed but kept a careful eye on the kitchen clock. She wanted to give herself at least a half an hour in Knockturn Alley, so she had to arrive at least thirty minutes before the shops closed. She shovelled down the food (couldn't even remember what it was) and declined pudding, saying that she had to be getting back, but she was very glad to see them, even if only for a little bit.

Apparition was never pleasant. Adding its uncomfortable compression with the slight queasiness of guilt left Hermione practically nauseous as she arrived in Diagon Alley. Lying wasn't something that Hermione usually felt bad about. She had lied many times, to teachers and to the boys when it served her purpose. But using her parents like that did not sit well with her.

Making sure she was still covered in Harry's cloak, she tiptoed down the darkened Diagon Alley until she reached the entryway to Knockturn. She'd obviously never been to this apothecary, nor had she asked Fred and George for directions. Still, Knockturn was only so large, surely she should be able to find it on her own. Under the cloak, she felt safe enough to search the alley.

It took her longer than she expected, as the store front did not face the alley proper, but opened off to the side, where one, in the Muggle world, would leave the dust bins. The window was too grimy to peek through, so she was forced to remove the cloak (when no one was looking, of course) and enter.

Her heart sank when she saw no walls of potion ingredients for browsing, like most apothecaries, but only a small, unkempt reception room with two rickety-looking wooden chairs, and a front desk, behind which no one stood. However, the bell that sounded upon her entry would no doubt bring someone, until then, she'd have to decide on what she'd say.

A man entered, strands of oily hair wisped over in an optimistic (but vain) attempt to hide the top of his bald head. "What d'ye want?" he asked, not at all in a customer friendly way.

"Er... I want... I want potion ingredients," she answered.

The man ("Gump," Fred had told her) sneered at her. "Yeah, yer in my shop, I gathered ye wanted ingredients, love. What. Do. Ye. Want?"

Hermione was horrified by the terrible state of the man's teeth. One look at them would send her parents running for their tools and strapping him to the dentist chair.

"Yes," she said as confidently as she could, (which wasn't very) and pulled out the parchment with her list. The man took it and eyed the items.

His glance left the paper to inspect her, then went back to the list again. Hermione didn't even breathe as she waited.

Finally, he grumbled, "I'll see what I have," and trudged off into the backroom.

Hermione finally let out her breath, and her knees swayed. She clutched the desk to keep her feet.

"Well that wasn't so bad," she said to herself. "At least the worst bit's over."

She waited in dusty silence for well over a quarter of an hour, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet in an effort to contain her nervous energy. She just wanted to pay for it and get back to Headquarters. Hermione knew she had a reputation for being a swot, a clever-bookish sort who all but worshipped the rule book, but being friends with Harry and Ron for the past seven years she had broken more than her fair share. It was a thrill each time, she couldn't deny it, but never did she break the rules for no reason.

Gump, or whoever he was, returned from the backroom just as the bell from the door behind her chimed the arrival of a new customer.

"Tha's 97 galleons and seven sickles, then," he said, placing a brown paper parcel bound with twine in front of her.

Not wanting to be taken in, she said bossily, "I'd like to see what I'm getting before I pay."

He glowered at her, but with a flick of his wand, the twining began to untie itself, and the paper unfolded to reveal her order.

It was all of surprisingly good quality. He even had the Re'em blood. She'd never seen any before, of course, but from what she read it looked, smelled, and had the exact viscosity as it should. And the Runespoor eggs were as fresh (read: malodorous) as she could have hoped.

Pleased with herself and the quality of the ingredients, she flicked her wand at Harry's money pouch (he wouldn't even notice the gold was missing and she promised she'd pay him back) and the exact total of the purchase flew out in an orderly stream, placing themselves directly into the till.

Business concluded, she said, "Have a good evening," just as her parents taught her to always do and made to leave the shop.

A pair of intently watchful black eyes stopped her in her tracks.

Hermione's heart started beating rapidly, knowing that now their entire project would fail. Professor Snape stood by the door, having witnessed the whole thing. He would yell at her, tell the Order, take away her ingredients (and use them himself, the Slytherin) and no doubt somehow bring Harry and Ron down with her. They'd never get to even start their potion and she (at least) would never be treated as an adult in the Order now that she'd been discovered sneaking out.

Frozen like panicked deer in the light of an approaching vehicle, Hermione merely stood, gaping at her defeater.

To her immense astonishment, he politely stepped aside, leaving the path to the door unblocked, as any stranger might.

She didn't question this seeming windfall, but hightailed it out of there (as decorously as possible.) Perhaps he just hadn't wanted to make a scene in a public (if disreputable) establishment. 'Of course,' Hermione thought as she threw the cloak over her. He couldn't very well bawl her out about leaving Order Headquarters in the middle of Knockturn Alley and reveal his own position as spy.

Hermione cringed, thinking of what would await her back at Grimmauld place, what would happen when Professor Snape returned. What could she do? She could hide the ingredients, protect them against confiscation. He was the most brilliant Potions Master of the day. Would he have noticed what she had been buying? Would he know of their illegality?

Indubitably.

Which left her and her plan thoroughly, entirely, and inescapably bollixed. She'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone severe tongue lashing from him, Molly Weasley and Minerva McGonagall.

Refusing to cry, she thrust her chin into the air and strode (invisibly) into Diagon Alley, ready, or nearly so, to accept the inevitable consequences of her actions. She began planning defences in her head that would free Harry and Ron from any traces of complicity, or guilt by association. Having composed her argument methodically in her head, she entered the Leaky Cauldron, sans cloak.

She'd left by floo, so naturally they'd expect her back by floo. Well, there was no way to tell from which fireplace a person had come, so she decided that she'd borrow some powder from the Leaky Cauldron and go from there.

The first thing she noticed (because she was looking especially) was that Professor Snape was not in the living room when she arrived. More or less the same group was gathered around, drinking their evening tea or coffee (though she suspected that Moody was drinking stronger stuff from that hip flask) and discussing things.

Seeing as they didn't immediately start to chide her for her dangerous and foolhardy behaviour, she deduced they didn't know... yet. Deciding that there was no point in simply walking up and taking her place on the pillory, she made no effort to confess.

"My parents send their regards, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," she said with a small smile and a slight incline of her head at each of them. They smiled back and Hermione left the room, going instantly to her own bedroom to hide her Re'em blood and Runespoor eggs before anything else. She didn't give the boys the other ingredients they were waiting for. It would only incriminate them. She didn't even tell them she was back. Once she'd hidden the ingredients as best she could (though if anyone made a concerted effort to find them, if they knew precisely what they were looking for, it wouldn't be much of a challenge) she went back into the kitchen and made some tea in effort to calm her overwrought nerves. As she sipped nervously, she listened for the sound of the front door opening, and the arrival of the Potions Master and her doom.

She almost wished he would just come and get it over with. The waiting was torture. She thought she'd explode when Professor Snape finally came in, accompanied by Professor Dumbledore, who instantly began loading up a plate with biscuits. It was a marvel the man had no cavities, what with all the sweets he consumed.

"How are the Doctors Granger?" asked the Headmaster solicitously.

"They're well. We had a nice dinner." Both statements were true. She carefully avoided looking at Professor Snape, who said nothing to contradict her story. Did the Headmaster already know? Was he testing her, tormenting her, giving her the chance to confess first before he called her out? She thought that was his ploy, but once he'd collected what he'd wanted, both he and the Potions Master left without another word.

She let out a vast exhalation when the door closed behind them as relief washed over her. He hadn't said anything. Of course it could be that the Order's spy had more important things to discuss with the Headmaster just then than the recalcitrant behaviour of one girl, but she was willing to accept this as a boon.

She left the kitchen to find the boys and report the (dubious?) success of her mission. She didn't mention the Potions Master.

Hermione mostly hid in her room for the rest of the holiday. Although Professor Snape was hardly ever seen around Headquarters (despite having a room there), she was afraid of running into him. Though by the continued lack of anyone coming to bawl her out for her excursion in Knockturn Alley, she gathered that he still hadn't told anyone. The few times she hadn't escaped the kitchen or library quick enough to avoid him, he hadn't acknowledged her at all. He acted as if nothing had happened.

She wasn't inclined to think that Severus Snape was doing it out of kindness, but all the same, she was grateful for the Professor's discretion


	2. Severus

**Chapter Two**

Spinner's End was a miserable place, and for the most part, Severus Snape was a miserable man. His decrepit, ramshackle Muggle home suited him in the same way the dark, dank dungeons of Hogwarts did. It matched his dourness.

He sat in front of his unlit fireplace, perhaps only imagining he could hear Pettigrew's wheezing from the other room. The man (if one used the term loosely) was a consummate nuisance. Every time Severus brewed, it was as if he could feel Pettigrew's breath on the back of his neck as he worked. Of course the little rat would never dare venture that close, but Severus felt the formerly paunchy man's scrutiny acutely.

Severus had no doubt that Peter had been placed with him as a precaution, reminding him that while the Dark Lord might say outwardly that his faith in Severus was complete, it was known that Voldemort truly trusted no one, not even Severus.

Which was wise. Severus Snape was not a wizard to be trusted.

He wasn't imagining it, Pettigrew was snoring away. Not that Severus had actually spiked his evening tea, but a touch of valerian had a slight (and more to the point, untraceable) soporific effect. How long Peter would remain asleep, however, wasn't guaranteed, so Severus needed to hurry. His report to the Headmaster was overdue.

The moment he stepped inside Grimmauld Place, a part of him (not a very large part, granted) relaxed. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. But at least there he didn't fear for his life.

He entered the kitchen (warm and redolent with Molly Weasley's recent cooking.)

"Where is the Headmaster?" he asked. Only the werewolf and the Granger girl were there, the latter predictably scuttling out of the room. She was still avoiding him. This was an improvement as far as Severus was concerned.

"Good evening, Severus. I'll floo Dumbledore, shall I?"

"That would be... appreciated." Severus tried to force out the last word without it sounding strained but it didn't work. He didn't like the idea of thanking the werewolf for anything (as he had tried to kill him once) but Albus had directed him to be civil. And to be fair, out of all the Marauders, Remus Lupin was the most tolerable. And _that_ was saying something, when a werewolf is the best there is.

Lupin swept out and a few minutes later Dumbledore entered.

"Severus," he said with a weak smile. Severus forbore to glance down at the old man's withering hand, the reason he looked and sounded so frail. The curse was gaining a stronger purchase, it was obvious even to those who knew nothing about Gaunt's ring. The Headmaster's health was steadily declining.

The meeting was...unsettling, not that Severus let it show. Dumbledore's unshakeable confidence in him, that he could and would do all that was expected of him, sent a frisson of fear through him. Albus kept saying things like "_after my death" _and "_once I'm gone_."

Severus wished he wouldn't. He couldn't handle that kind of talk. And yet, he couldn't break down in front Albus either. Dumbledore all but admitted that Severus had to be strong for _him_, who was ever weakening. If Severus caved to his own insecurity and fear now, he'd be letting the Headmaster down. He didn't have the heart (yes, he did have one) to destroy an old man's hope. And not just any old man either, but the incarnation of hope to most of the wizarding world. And soon that hope was going to die along with the man and the wizarding world will be lost and despondent and somehow he, Severus, was supposed to see that everything ended up well.

No pressure.

He thought that Harry Potter must feel the somewhat similar, but then shuddered at having compared himself to the boy-who-lived.

So the world depended on Dumbledore, and Dumbledore depended on him. But who did he have? The memory of a dead woman. Severus wished for something slightly more fortifying, just now.

With a characteristic billow of robes, he swept out of the room.

He'd actually prefer to stay at Headquarters with the legion of redheaded Weasleys and the other insufferable children, namely the insufferable know-it-all and the insufferable boy-who-lived. Yes, he'd rather surround himself in that misery than confine himself to his old family house with Peter Pettigrew for company, but had no choice.

Wormtail was still snoring away when Severus returned to Spinner's End. It would be a simple matter to sneak into the other wizard's room and kill him in his sleep, but then how would he explain himself to the Dark Lord?

Every single day of his life, every time he saw the snivelling rat, the cringing cur, he burned with the urge to kill him. The man who slept in his house, ate his food, spied on him in his own home, stank up the bathroom because he was too incompetent to use a freshening charm, this fat pustule of a wizard... was the reason Lily was dead.

After everything Severus had done, had sacrificed to keep her and her objectionable family alive, it was all ruined by the traitor Peter Pettigrew. One day, if Snape had his way, he would finally get his revenge. He was looking forward to _that_ more than the end of Voldemort. Yes, Severus wanted the Dark Lord to be killed, but his death would mean relief. He understood why the Dark Lord had wanted to kill the Potters. Pettigrew, however, was simply a coward and betrayed his friends. Betrayed her.

Severus would never betray her. Never.

Which is what brought him to his current situation in life. Double spy for both Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. He was in the pockets of the two most powerful wizards of the day, but if truth be told, he wasn't loyal to either of them. Yes, he did as he was told, and he wasn't going to betray the Headmaster, but he and Albus both knew that the reason for that was because it was what Lily would have wanted. She died fighting for the Order.

If it was worth her dying for, it was worth him living for.

With a growl of dissatisfaction, Severus replaced his wand and once again forbore to murder the rat in his bed. He was actually looking forward to the start of term this year. Then, at least, he could escape Peter, if nothing else. A small consolation but they came so few and far between, Severus was prepared to be appreciative, even if it meant a horde of inept imbeciles.

O

The start of term staff meeting proceeded as usual, though they spent more time discussing security than they did academics and discipline.

"And someone will need to meet with the Head Boy and Girl to discuss this with them. They'll need to bring it up in the prefect meeting."

Well, he certainly wasn't going to volunteer, even if the Head Boy was from his own house. When Minerva realised she was going to get stuck with the job, she tried to take him down with her, suggesting that they both go.

"Surely Minerva, after decades of teaching, you are capable of relating a few simple facts to two well behaved students?" He almost made a comment about it possibly being too strenuous an activity for a woman of _her _age, but didn't say it. Despite the rivalry, he respected the Transfiguration teacher, and admitted that she didn't deserve the slight. She was a hale old witch, despite having received four stunners to the chest. She might not be as strong as she once was, but she was still the most powerful witch in the castle.

Severus retired to his dungeon rooms. A familiar if not congenial abode. Actually, he didn't know what he would do if his rooms were warm and inviting. He would consider comfort a personal insult by this point.

It would be a mistake to have a bed too warm, pillows too soft. He didn't want to be so comfortable as to sleep too deeply. Being a light sleeper had saved his life more than once. Severus never drank either. One glass of wine might not affect his faculties but one never knows when one glass might become two. And then suddenly having another one or two more doesn't seem like such a bad idea. It was better to stay away from the stuff altogether. Severus couldn't afford any more weaknesses. Those he did have were crippling enough.

Having no assignments to mark, he set out at eleven to make his rounds through the castle, simultaneously hoping that the dunderheads had learned to follow the rules and to stay in their dormitories, but also hoping that he might find a miscreant or two on whom he could take out his temper. Not that anything in particular had happened to put him in a foul mood. Being Severus Snape was reason enough.

He found nobody but Peeves, from whom, unfortunately, Severus couldn't take house points. Snape knew a dark magic that could get rid of him, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from Dumbledore if he did. Actually, that wasn't true. If Severus wanted to be honest he knew the Headmaster might speak for a minute or two, but then never mention the subject again, just look at him disappointedly. And disappointment from the Headmaster was one thing he couldn't handle.

O

He burst into his classroom with his usual dramatics. Severus Snape knew how to make an entrance, it was true, but he was not a theatrical man by nature. No, there was a perfectly logical reason for all his billowing (besides the pleasure of instilling fear into dunderheads.) It was simply that when one was accustomed to you making large and noticeable entrances, they were less likely to notice you make a subtle one.

Granger, for once, sat demurely in her seat. Typical Gryffindor. About as subtle as a rampaging hippogriff. It would be less obvious if she continued on as she usually did, but she had to draw attention to herself by acting so out of character. Even Potter and Weasley were giving her questioning looks.

That was interesting, Severus had to admit. He had assumed that the two boys would have been involved in whatever she'd been up to but they were clearly ignorant. Or at least, ignorant that she'd been caught. Was she acting on her own or did she conveniently forget to mention to her little friends she'd been spotted?

It was not, however, interesting enough for him to deliberate upon when he was in class.

"You have 74 minutes. Begin."

While it was entirely true that Severus disliked Longbottom, Severus couldn't deny that he got some small satisfaction in making the boy jump in fear, or quake at his desk, trying to hide behind his cauldron. He didn't doubt that his students knew this about him either. They probably thought that he enjoyed making people as miserable as he was.

And there might be some truth to that.

But sadly, the Longbottom boy was becoming harder to intimidate these days and Severus found he had to expend more effort than it was worth to frighten him. He probably wasn't the boy's boggart anymore. With a grimace he remembered the staffroom remarks about Longbottom's performance in Lupin's lesson. And to think Severus still spent 14 hours every new moon brewing for that werewolf. Severus snarled angrily and was rewarded by Lavender Brown jumping away from him as he passed.

O

"How kind of you to warn me, Professor Trelawney," he said sarcastically that night at dinner after being forced to listen to the bespectacled woman's latest predictions about his (needless to say gruesome) death.

Why did the woman insist on sitting next to him at meal times?

"Do take care, Severus," she said placing a hand on his arm, the one with the mark. He jerked it out from under her bony fingers and didn't even dignify her inane advice with a response. Take care, indeed. As if it were that simple.

His eyes scanned the Great Hall, first the Slytherin table, making sure all of his charges were behaving in manner befitting their house, and then to the Gryffindor table. Sometimes he wanted people to know when he was watching them, so as to deter them from doing something they oughtn't; but this time he observed surreptitiously through his hair, which had a tendency of falling in front of his face, concealing his eyes.

Potter, the youngest Weasleys, and Granger were sitting together at the end of the table furthest from the teachers. No doubt that was deliberate. By the excited expressions of the boy-who-lived and the redheads and the utterly disinterested countenance of Granger, he assumed it was about Quidditch. Her head came up cautiously and her eyes searched the Head Table, landing on him. She studied him for a moment, worrying her lower lip, when he decided to draw back the curtain of his hair and let her see that he knew she was staring.

Immediately she turned and looked away, said a hasty farewell to her friends, and bolted from the Hall.

Severus chuckled darkly. Where was all that prized Gryffindor courage now? She'd tucked tail all over a few illicit potions ingredients. Of course she wasn't well enough acquainted with the magical underworld to know that what happens in Knockturn Alley stays in Knockturn Alley.

He had spent a few nights wondering what it was she was attempting to brew, if it required Re'em blood, Runespoor eggs, bicorn horn and hellebore. Severus admitted (only to himself, naturally) that he was stumped. Any potion in which he could consider using Re'em blood would react poorly with hellebore. Of course, it might be two separate brews, in which case he could wonder twice as much which ingredients went with which brew, and which those brews might be. It was a challenge of sorts. A riddle for a potions master. An incomplete puzzle. The possibilities were intriguing, and knowing the Granger girl, she could very well be attempting any of the complex concoctions he had in mind. Despite her current Longbottom-like behaviour in avoiding him, she was still competent with a cauldron, thankfully. Contemplating two Longbottoms in the same class made him want to shudder.

The last thing he wanted to do was to stop her from brewing whatever it as she was attempting. He _would_ however, find out what it was later and he _would _punish her for it. _After_ it was brewed though. Not before.

But it wasn't often he could spend time amusing himself pondering potential potions. He had more pressing duties, like the one that currently burned his arm, hidden beneath his robes.

He silently rose from his seat and swept out of the room, his dinner unfinished.


	3. The Headmaster's Machinations

**_Author's Note: _**_I thought I'd inform you that this fic takes aspects of books 6 and 7 and combines then. In this world, Professor Snape still taught Potions in sixth year and continued into the trio's seventh. Horcruxes are still out there, Dumbledore is still alive at this point but still cursed._

**Chapter Three**

Hermione was dreading Potions that afternoon. The same could be said for her lesson earlier that week. Usually, Hermione Granger was the _only_ person who didn't. Today, however, she deeply sympathised with her peers. The way the professor had studiously ignored her the last lesson made her even more nervous. She was waiting on tenterhooks the entire class, waiting for the axe to fall. When the end of the lesson came and still nothing had happened, she convinced herself he was doing it out specifically to torture her.

It was working.

She walked in between Harry and Ron, who, inspired by their recent History of Magic lesson, were amusing themselves by trying to decide what their Slytherin classmates' names would be had they been goblin rebels.

"Goyle the Gaseous," said Harry.

"Crabbe the Constipated," supplied Ron.

"Constipated?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well yeh. I mean, you know when he's confused, which is all the time, mind." He pulled a Crabbe-like expression, and then proceeded to make straining noises. "The bloke always looks constipated. No wonder when you think about it. Fat lump'll eat anything and everything."

The boys grinned triumphantly, remembering tricking the two Slytherins into eating sweets filled with a slumbering solution. Hermione, however, thought it was rather hypocritical for Ron to criticise _anyone_ on their eating habits.

"Malfoy the..." Harry paused, thinking. "Malfoy," he finished. "That's bad enough."

"Malfoy the Malfoy," Ron repeated. "You're right mate. That should be our new insult. If someone is low, slimy, or being a git in general."

"Quit being so Malfoy, Ron," Harry snapped.

"Oi!"

"Just trying it out."

Hermione was only half paying attention to her friends. The other half was focused on the door at the end of the corridor she would soon have to pass through, and so into the potion master's domain. Putting on a true Gryffindor front, she stuck her chin out defiantly and strode into the room.

Students weren't sitting at their desks. Instead they were crowded around the chalkboard, murmuring among themselves.

"No class?"

"Is he taking the piss?"

"For him to take the piss, he'd need a sense of humour."

"True."

"What if it's a test? You know, and he comes in later to see who's bolted and takes away a hundred points of something."

"He'd do it, too."

"Someone else probably wrote it, maybe Peeves, to get us all in trouble for skiving."

While comments continued around her, Hermione stared at the board.

_All Potions classes today have been cancelled._

Below was a list of the assignments each year was to complete for homework.

Hermione copied it down quickly, and replaced the parchment in her bag.

"Come on, Harry, Ron," she said, pulling on Harry's sleeve.

Unlike many of the other students, Harry and Ron had no qualms ducking out of potions, no matter what the reason.

Ron was all smiles. "Brilliant. This might be the best day of our academic career. The day Potions was cancelled. Harry, remind me to put that in my diary."

"Ron, you don't even keep a diary," Harry pointed out.

"A Snape-free day," the redhead continued with a dreamy smile.

"_Professor_ Snape, Ron," Hermione corrected. She doubted the boys even heard her anymore when she said this. It was as if they were immune. "Why do you suppose he isn't here? What happened?"

"Who cares?" Ron said predictably.

Harry, though it was no secret that he loathed the Potions Master, was a bit more speculative. "Perhaps he's with Voldemort."

Ron flinched. "Your scar?" he asked.

"No," Harry said immediately. "I don't feel anything. Just a guess."

"D'you think Snape knows about the horcruxes?" asked Ron.

Hermione glared at him and whispered fiercely, "_Not here, Ron!_" and pulled them into the nearest classroom, warding the door for privacy. "You can't just say things like that where anyone can hear you, Ronald," she reprimanded.

Once again, he ignored her with the ease of a man married many years. "What d'you reckon, Harry?"

"I don't know. Dumbledore said absolutely no one could know." Naturally, she and Ron weren't included in this sweeping generalisation. "So maybe he doesn't."

"Good. Greasy git," Ron muttered, sounding pleased that he knew something the Order's spy didn't.

"I think he would," Hermione piped in.

"Why would he?" Ron spat.

"Dumbledore _trusts_ him. And I refuse to have this conversation again. He must have a reason even if he doesn't tell us."

"I suppose it might not bad if he does know about them," admitted Harry quietly. He continued at an even lower whisper. "I'm trying to destroy the horcruxes, and the more people who are on the lookout for where they might be hidden the better."

Hermione was pleased that Harry could put aside his dislike when it was as important as this.

"If he does know I'm sure he's already working on it," she said certainly.

"Maybe that's where he is now" added Harry, sounding hopeful.

"Doubtful," interjected Ron. "When, in all his years of spying, has Snape ever missed a class?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Ron."

"More than likely he's dead."

How Ron could say that with a casual shrug, Hermione didn't know. While the Potions Master wasn't her favourite teacher, she knew how important he was to the Order, to the war, to Hogwarts. The thought of Professor Snape dying was a sad and terrifying thought. It was almost as bad as contemplating Harry's death, or the Headmaster's.

They decided to spend their free hour at Hagrid's. The half-giant knew nothing of the missing Professor.

Hermione found herself despairing at finding his usual seat at the Head Table still empty. _'I'm not being very consistent, am I?'_ she said to herself. First she wished he wasn't there, and now she wished he was.

Her mind made up, she left the Gryffindor table after dinner for the Headmaster's office.

"Ice Mice," she told the gargoyle, and he obligingly moved aside for her to ride the ascending staircase up to her destination.

"Come in, Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted with a smile. The twinkle in those blue eyes didn't lend itself to concern over his spy.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," she greeted back, suddenly nervous about what she was going to say.

The Headmaster's smile broadened and he said, "I will give you a moment to collect your thoughts, Miss Granger, I'll return in a moment. There is something I must see to."

She nodded and watched Dumbledore move off into another chamber into which Hermione had never seen or been.

She didn't need a moment to collect her thoughts. They were, as always, perfectly well organised. It was getting them from her mind and out her mouth that would be difficult. It wouldn't be any easier in five minutes than it would be now. She sat down at a chair in front of the great oak desk with her bag in her lap, preparing herself to wait, her eyes idly scanning all the interesting little whirring and spinning devices.

She put her mind to trying to sort out what each one of them was and, unfortunately for her ego, didn't succeed with any of them.

She didn't consciously move for it. In fact, she knew better than to touch unidentified magical objects. Yet somehow it happened. It was almost as if she summoned the object to her, but she knew she didn't. She didn't have her wand out.

A familiar sensation came over her when the item came in contact with her, a sensation she hadn't felt since her third year.

The room blurred around her for several dizzying moments and then everything came to a stop and fell back into focus. She was still sitting in the chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, bag still in lap, but Professor Snape was standing right next to her, looking much worse for wear.

Startled near to death, she jumped out of her seat and away from this sudden apparition. "Professor!" she gasped.

The change in him was instantaneous. While he still looked pale (more so than usual) he stood straighter, his expression schooled so that it didn't betray any fatigue or... had that been pain?

"Since there is no Apparition on the Hogwarts grounds I can only assume, Miss Granger, that once again you've been up to your old tricks."

"Old tricks?" she asked, utterly bemused.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

Hermione whirled around to see the Headmaster stoking Fawkes on the other side of the room.

"Good... morning?" she replied hesitantly. With a hasty look at the window, she realised it did indeed appear to be _very _early morning. But which morning?

"And why did you come to visit?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"I think, Headmaster, the more appropriate question would be, _when_ did she come visit." The dour Potions Master turned his disapproving stare to her and asked, "Playing with time again, Miss Granger?"

"I'm not sure," she answered with complete honesty.

"_A first_," Snape remarked coldly.

"It was evening when I came," she told them, ignoring the snarky dark man next to her and addressing the much kinder Dumbledore.

"Of which day, Miss Granger?" asked the Headmaster.

She told him.

"Fortunately you've only gone back a few hours. Professor Snape and I were in the middle of a discussion when you arrived."

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Too late for that, Miss Granger." Hermione was beginning to think that Professor Snape's disposition was even worse in the morning. Or perhaps whatever reason he was in the Headmaster's office at such a ridiculously early hour was also the cause for his current extra snarky behaviour.

"So to what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Granger?" asked Dumbledore. Snape made a face that clearly showed he disagreed with the Headmaster's idea of 'pleasure.' Hermione felt the insult, as she was no doubt meant to. The fact that the frowning man was in the room with her made her confession exponentially more difficult than when she only had to tell Dumbledore.

"Erm... It's no longer applicable, I think."

"How so, Miss Granger?"

Right. Well there was no way out of it. She was just going to have to tell them the truth, and open herself up for the professor's ridicule and rage.

"Well, I see I needn't have worried now, but when I came later this evening it was because Professor Snape had been gone all day. I came to..."

"Inquire after my health?" he asked sarcastically. "I'm touched," said Snape, although by his intonation and facial expression he might as well have said, "_I'm disgusted._" Then, surprisingly (to Hermione at any rate) he added, "And don't look at me that way, old man, this proves nothing."

"On the contrary, Severus. Miss Granger being here is proof that you did not attend classes today."

Had that been what they had been discussing before she arrived? Whether or not Professor Snape should attend classes? Why would the Headmaster want to keep the Potions Master from his duty?

Professor Snape's cheek ticked with irritation, and seeing that he clearly lost that point he changed tack.

"It does not necessarily follow that I spent the day in the Hospital Wing, Headmaster," he pointed out with deceptive calm. Hermione could tell he was near the point of a tantrum. She would rather not be there when the fuse finally ended. Like watching a tennis volley, her head flew back to Dumbledore, to see how he'd reply. She was catching on quickly. Dumbledore wanted Snape to go to Madam Pomfrey and Snape was reluctant to do so.

"No indeed, not the whole day. But, as it is obvious you weren't seen, perhaps you'd be so good as to keep Miss Granger company while she hides out until this evening," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Hermione didn't know who looked more appalled at this suggestion, herself or Snape.

O

The familiar (yet decidedly odd) sensation of the disillusionment charm dripped over her like trickling ice water, starting from the crown of her head going all the way down to her feet.

"No one can know that this Miss Granger is anywhere other than where she should be," Dumbledore reiterated. Hermione assumed it was for Snape's benefit, as she was already well-versed in the mores of time-turning.

It had been decided (after much arguing) that Professor Snape would visit Madame Pomfrey, and that he would act as child-minder to her. Perhaps it was simply conceit on her part, but Hermione suspected that the Headmaster had truly meant it the other way around. She knew that she didn't need to be minded, and she also knew that the Headmaster doubted that the Potion's Professor really would do as he asked (meaning going to the Hospital Wing and resting for the rest of the day.) However, his activities would be severely limited if he were forced to mind her for the day.

She was minutely pleased that Snape made the argument for her that being a seventh year and the Head Girl, she didn't need constant supervision, but the Headmaster would have none of it. And finally, cementing her hunch about the Headmaster's motives, Dumbledore had told her in a whisper as he offered her a sherbet lemon, '_see to it that he doesn't overexert himself, Miss Granger._'

Hermione didn't think she could stop Professor Snape from doing anything he didn't want to do, but nodded shakily at the Headmaster in response anyway.

Babysit Snape? The boys would have a field day if they knew.

Disillusionment spells in place, they made their way to the Hospital Wing. It was only just after five in the morning, so the room was still and quiet.

"Wait here," he commanded in a tone of voice that brooked no opposition. "If you move from this spot I assure you Gryffindor will lose so many points as to have no chance of winning the House cup for the next decade."

So he didn't want Hermione to see what was wrong with him. Fine.

Actually, she was dreadfully curious but she didn't doubt he would make good on that threat, so she stood obediently in the corner while he went on. The doors to the wing were warded to let the healer know when someone entered, so she was already making her way to them, wrapping a robe about her by the time she met Snape in the middle of the room. There was a short, whispered conversation of which Hermione heard nothing, but could clearly see the aggravation on Professor Snape's face, and then the pair were gone, hidden behind a privacy curtain of one of the beds.

She saw Madam Pomfrey leave a time or two, fetching potions from the stores, but it was too far away from Hermione to tell which ones.

Half an hour later he reappeared and his colour, if not his temper, looked like it had improved. He passed by her at a fierce pace with no acknowledgment beyond a hissed, '_come!_' He didn't even wait to see if she obeyed and followed, though of course she did, and narrowly avoided the door banging her on the behind as she left.

The Professor's stride was much longer than her own, and she had to jog slightly to keep up with him, jumping every now and again to hoist her bag back up onto her shoulder, as it was continually wanting to fall down. She was breathless by the time they reached the Potions classroom.

Though he didn't direct her to this time, she stood off to the side quietly as he began writing the assignments down on the board. Or... at least she intended to remain quiet. However she couldn't help herself from speaking when he saw what he'd set her class for work.

"Erm, that's not what was written on the board for the Seventh years, sir," she pointed out.

He scowled at her.

"Are you questioning me, Miss Granger?"

"No sir, I'm simply telling you that you had something different written. Perhaps you changed your mind."

"You are telling me to change my mind," he said disapprovingly.

"I wouldn't presume, sir."

"You _presume_ every single time you are in my class, Miss Granger. There is no _end _to your presumption."

It hurt, yes, but it wouldn't do to let him see that. She swore to herself in fourth year after that disastrous _densaugeo _incident that she'd never let him see how he got to her. She assumed that he liked riling students to react poorly and she refused to give him the satisfaction.

"The difference between dittany and Abbyssinan shrivelfigs in various shrinking solutions," she said, her chin tipped up resolutely. "A foot long essay." Actually it had been a foot and a half, but she might as well do her friends a favour.

He scowled at her and changed the board, writing down a foot and a half anyway, just to spite her. Hermione was outraged, but grateful she hadn't told the truth, or they'd have two feet to do instead. When he finished he turned around and fixed her with a challenging stare, as if daring her to tell him to change it a second time. She didn't, but she glared right back at him. Nasty man. Yes, he was doing a lot of good in the world, and yes, she had been worried about him, but that didn't mean she wanted to spend any length of time with him. He wasn't the most personable of men.

He removed the disillusionment charm without a word to her when they entered his office. He sat down at his desk, drew some parchment to him, and proceeded to ignore her entirely. Taking her cue from him, she sat down in the wooden chair across from him and brought out her textbooks to begin the homework for a class that technically had not even happened yet. Well, that was nothing new for Hermione. She enjoyed getting work done early.

She'd finished her History of Magic assignment first, figuring that was the most innocuous subject and would not require any 'silly wand waving.' By that time, breakfast time had come and gone, and Snape's first class of the day began to fill the classroom. Probably first or second years, by the sound of their high voices. It seemed as though the notice that class was cancelled was received with the same confusion and disbelief of her own year. Listening rather than starting on Transfiguration, she found that most of the class sat and talked quietly to themselves, doing their work rather than leaving. They had been afraid the Potions Master might arrive at any moment.

Hermione suspected that Professor Snape was pleased that he could strike fear into the hearts of his students without even being there.

'_Only_...' Hermione thought, looking at her watch. '_Eleven hours to go_.' She tried not to frown with dismay. She didn't know if her nerves could last that long. Of course, the Headmaster hadn't known when he suggested this scheme that it was doubly awkward for her, as the Professor had very damning information about her that he could divulge at any time. She knew that Professor Snape was in a terrible mood so she did her best not to provoke him. She kept waiting for him to mention the apothecary in Knockturn Alley, but he didn't. For hours, they sat there and worked in silence, which was better than stilted, awkward, and forced conversation.

Lunchtime drew near and Hermione grew steadily sleepy. Before, she could simply use her time turner, take herself off to some deserted place, and take a nap for a few hours to keep her going. Such was not possible now. To her body, it was approaching two in the morning but she didn't dare close her eyes. It wasn't that she _mistrusted_ Snape, it just didn't seem like a wise thing to do. He might even take offence.

Thinking that she'd need something very challenging to keep her mind awake, she started on her Potions essay, feeling self conscious to be working on it under the very (sizeable) nose of the Potions Master himself. She didn't quite dare ask the question she was desperate to pose to him. She'd be able to go to the library when she left his office; she could look it up then... if she didn't pass out immediately from exhaustion.

As if some divinity heard her thoughts, a house elf appeared with a full tea service. Hermione was thrilled for about 7 seconds, until she realised there was only one cup and that Professor Snape took it.

"Erm..."

It had been the first things said between them for hours.

His head shot up, a sardonic brow raised as he studied her.

She didn't bother asking for him to share. His expression was enough to keep her from even trying.

She sighed, glowering slightly, and returned to her Potions text. She listened with murderous envy as he poured himself his tea and she was hard put not to huff at his blatant bad manners. But then again, she reflected, he could blackmail her at any time he wished. It wouldn't be wise to complain. By his expression, he was thinking the exact same thing...

O

Her bladder woke her. She was doubly embarrassed, not only had she fallen asleep but she'd also have to ask Professor Snape to use the facilities.

"Erm... sir?"

He grunted to acknowledge he was listening, but didn't look up.

"The loo?" she asked, mortified beyond anything she'd felt before.

He grunted again and jerked his head in the direction of the door to his left. She pasted on a grin she didn't feel and rose to her feet, putting her work in her chair. At least he hadn't simply conjured a chamber pot. After passing through that door, she was immediately confronted with a chamber that must have been his bedroom. Directly to her right was another door through which she passed, finding the loo. She took her time looking around, as if his bathroom would provide clues about its owner. She didn't touch anything, but she inspected.

As it turned out there was nothing extraordinary or remarkable in his toilette. He was Spartan in his toiletries, as most men were. His bedroom would no doubt be more interesting, but while she was a Gryffindor, she wasn't suicidal enough to rummage through his things with the man himself in the next room.

They would never find her body.

She returned to her uncomfortable wooden chair and took up her text and quill again. It was with marked annoyance that she found that the essay on which she had been working was facing the opposite direction than she'd left it. He had read it and hadn't bothered to hide the fact. And she couldn't do anything about it either. Not caring that she was being hypocritical (she had gone through his bathroom after all), she glared at him fiercely. He would read her essay eventually anyway when she turned it in but that didn't matter, it was the principle of the thing.

His head remained down, hidden by that horrible hair (again, she ignored her own hypocrisy.)

She huffed again and checked her watch.

This day would never end...

O

She'd long finished her homework and had been steadily revising N.E.W.T material for hours. She had even grown used to him. Endless hours in his presence had slowly drained her of her fear and transformed the frightening figure into a normal man. Well, perhaps _normal_ would be a bit of a stretch.

"I think the Headmaster orchestrated this," she stated at random, breaking the hours of silence.

His head rose and inspected her, but he didn't speak.

"When I stopped by this evening, he would have already known that I'd go back in time, as we had already spoken that morning. He seemed too pleased when I showed up, and left me alone on purpose. What's more, I wasn't anywhere near that time turner. It flew to me as if I summoned it, but I hadn't. Looking back, I think Headmaster Dumbledore sent it to me, sending me to him precisely the time this morning when you two were having your argument. I think he arranged it purposefully to imprison you here, Professor."

"I had already come to that conclusion, Miss Granger. The Headmaster is only noble when it suits him."

"I already knew that, actually," she said bitterly, thinking of her current project. Well, she had her suspicions at any rate. The very reason he had caught her in Knockturn Alley was because of her lack of faith in her Headmaster.

For the first time, he actually looked interested that she was there. He was looking directly into her eyes and she found it difficult to look away. After a horrified moment she realised what he was doing and threw him out of her mind, more on instinct than in any intentional effort. She didn't _think_ he'd seen anything important. She'd only been reviewing her time in the apothecary, which he had already seen. No, she hadn't shown him anything else important. She flung her head back, chin raised triumphantly.

Neither openly spoke about his rather rude attempt at Legilimency, and Hermione made it a point not to look at him directly for the rest of the evening. In fact, she made a mental note to avoid his gaze for the rest of the year. She'd need to learn to Occlude her mind. Yet another project for her to take on. As if she didn't already have enough to be getting on with.

Needless to say, there were no fond farewells when Hermione was finally allowed to leave his office that night. She merely threw a sarcastic, "It was a pleasure," over her shoulder, and he flung back, "Let's not do this again sometime."

She agreed heartily and hurried to Gryffindor Tower, anxious to see Harry and Ron.

"Oh, Hermione," Ron said sympathetically, putting a comforting arm around her and giving her a squeeze. Hermione tried not to look too pleased by this. She'd related to them the whole story in a whisper in the corner of the common room, Crookshanks settled comfortably in her lap. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Well, at least we know where he was today," Harry pointed out. "Think, Hermione, during Potions class when we were speculating where he could be, you were with him right there in his office the whole time."

"Bit creepy, actually," intoned Ron with a shudder. "You're alright, though? You're sure?" he asked. When Ron wasn't being a prat, he really was rather sweet.

She smiled and looked up at him.

"It was alright. We didn't talk. I just did my homework for the week and revised for the N.E.W.T.s."

"So you've finished all those essays already then?" Ron said hopefully. Hermione sighed, regretting that she'd told them. Of course now they'd want to copy her work. She picked up Crookshanks and stood, yawning exaggeratedly.

"And I'm completely exhausted at having spent an extra 14 hours awake. I'll talk to you boys tomorrow."

"Could you leave your homework down here?" Ron asked.

"I promise I'll go over your essays when you've finished them," she promised. That way he'd at least have to try. "Goodnight."

"Night, Mione."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She crawled into bed with her half-Kneazle familiar, grateful that the hellishly long day was finally over.

Before she allowed herself to fall asleep, she worked very hard at trying to clear her mind, and found it more difficult than she had anticipated.


	4. A Partnership Begins

**Chapter Four**

SS

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to?" Snape asked fervently. He could scarcely believe what the Albus Dumbledore was asking of him. It was impossible. Incredible. Inconceivable. Severus would _much_ sooner kill himself than the Headmaster. How could he ask him of this?

The selfish part of Severus wanted the curse to kill Dumbledore, slowly and painfully. The old bastard deserved it for asking him yet again to destroy his soul.

He said as much, to which the Headmaster replied that he would know if it would tear his soul apart to ease an old man's suffering.

_Puh_. What about Severus' own suffering? Who would then put him out of his misery?

Well, that question hardly needed asking. He had enough enemies (and the wrong kind of friends) so as to never have to worry about people _not_ wanting him dead.

And what did he mean, when the Dark Lord starts fearing for the life of Nagini? Yet again, Albus was keeping him in the dark. Not only him, but he was also keeping Harry Potter in the dark as well. Not that Severus cared for the boy's feelings, but he was the hope for the wizarding world, it would make sense to share what he knew. Severus did not approve of the Headmaster's methods. Whatever Albus was hiding from the boy, he knew it was for the wrong reasons. Potter was 17 after all, past the age of mollycoddling, surely. Ignorance may be bliss, but there were larger concerns to be consider. Happiness didn't figure in to most things. If Albus was trying to spare Potter from painful knowledge Severus could imagine it benefited only Potter, but even that gift would turn into a curse in the end.

Albus was just too soft-hearted, that was all. Severus would have gladly enlightened the boy himself, except that Dumbledore hadn't told him either. He doubted it was for the same reason though. He didn't think Dumbledore ever tried to spare him any trouble or pain. Perhaps he was still doing his penance for having become a Death Eater in the first place. No, instead he was sent back every time, back to the Dark Lord. He was forced to witness the most horrific scenes and participate in the most abominable acts. How many people did he have to let die? When would it all finally stop? He wanted everything to stop. _He _wanted to be able to stop. Forever.

Yes, he'd gladly take a day, an afternoon, hell, even an hour in which he could simply stop working, stop worrying, stop thinking. He found no pleasure in anything these days, not in good books, not in sumptuous food. Every minute of his life he spent preoccupied with the damned war, and trying to constantly shift his masks effectively, trying to order his mind so that the next time Voldemort looked inside it, he'd see nothing and yet everything he wanted; arranging lies as truths and truths as lies. It took up all his time and Severus felt as old as Dumbledore looked. It took all of his effort to maintain the facade. He'd spent so long playing a part he wasn't sure who he truly was anymore.

The only calming thought was of Lily, but he couldn't think of her without pain so he often didn't. Not unless he was very desperate or feeling very weak.

Severus left the Headmaster's office, an ache in his jaw from having clenched it so tightly.

O

If he had any room in his soul to find humour in anything, it would have been laughable that he still had to teach on top of all his other duties. Marking essays and giving lectures and making sure that the first years and Longbottom didn't blow themselves up. Severus was convinced that the O.W.L examiner had been entirely too lax, if Longbottom could make an O in the exam, forcing the boy into his classroom for another two years. As if he didn't have enough nuisances already.

He stalked through his classroom, watching his students attempting to brew. He huffed right passed Granger, not being able to find any faults. And it was like his father always insisted, if you can't say anything mean, don't say anything at all.

While she wasn't twitchy around him anymore, she was still cautious, respectful, and kept her distance. Or at least she pretended to. He knew (suspected rather) that she had broken into his stores again, filching half a dozen of his best specimens of hellebore. The cheek. First she makes him waste an entire day minding her in his own office, and to repay him, she nicked his finest ingredients.

He planned to confront her when he found the time. Severus could admit that had it been Potter, he probably would have found the time immediately, but since it was Granger, he let it slide. For the moment... He really wanted to find out what she was brewing before he did confront her, that way he could swoop in and completely demoralise her in one go. She was making this difficult, however, because she was deliberately denying him the chance of using Legilimency on her. She learnt her lesson in his office the other day. Cursed girl always was too quick a study.

He would have to resort to utterly un-Slytherin tactics and force a confrontation to startle her into letting down whatever Occlumency shields she'd been practicing.

When class was over he quickly told them their homework, and added casually that he was taking 50 points from Gryffindor. Potter and Weasley turned and glared at him.

"What for? We haven't done anything!"

"I'm sure Miss Granger could tell you," he replied silkily.

Granger, in typical Gryffindor fashion, blanched visibly, broadcasting her guilt to all the world. Her two companions looked at her curiously and she frantically waved them away, trying to shoo them from the room. "We'll talk in the common room," she told them.

Once the room had cleared Granger came demurely up to his desk. Gryffindors didn't do 'meek' very well. He was beginning to wish she'd go back to her old self.

"Sir?"

"You know why you are here, I suppose?" he told her.

"I'd prefer you tell me," she insisted.

Severus fought off the urge to snort. This was her way of saying that there were a number of things she could be in trouble for, and she didn't know for which she was being punished.

"Very well." He'd play her game, simply because the less time they wasted dancing around the issue, the better. "What do you think would be the proper penalty for breaking into my personal stores and stealing ingredients?"

Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she _finally _looked up at him. He'd made her forget that she was aiming not to make eye contact. Now he'd subtly search her mind.

"How do you know it was me?" she asked, part defensively, part curiously.

"Deduction," he said silkily. "Honestly, if you wanted to remain anonymous you shouldn't have left gold to pay for it, Granger. Only a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff would reimburse someone for something they stole, but a Hufflepuff wouldn't dare pilfer from me in the first place. Having narrowed it down thus far, Ms. Granger, how many of your housemates do you imagine would need rare ingredients, let alone have the Charms capability of breaking through my wards and the knowledge of potions to take the five best specimens of hellebore in my stores?"

As he spoke these words he searched her mind. Unfortunately his lecture was bringing up only the memories of her in the act of stealing. So he tried another prod in a different direction.

"We both already know you are doing a bit of an extracurricular brewing project, do we not?" he goaded.

And then... _he saw._

'_Merciful Merlin_," he thought disbelievingly. _Horcruxes._ That's what Dumbledore had been hiding from him, that's what those little field trips with Potter were about. That's what Hermione Granger's mind had betrayed to him. _Horcruxes_.**_ Plural_**. Severus was taken so thoroughly aback that he didn't know how to react, so he resorted to the default cruelty.

"Get out, Granger. Detention. And if you dare to enter my stores again, it will be for the rest of your life."

It wasn't at all his best threat but he was entirely distracted. Granger lingered there nervously for a moment, looking as if she wanted to ask something but he didn't have the patience for her anymore.

"_OUT_!" he bellowed.

She fled.

Damn Dumbledore for not having told him! Horcruxes. Of course. Did the Headmaster not think that would have been useful to know? Damn the man! Did the mad wizard plan on telling him before he died? Or rather, before he forced Severus to kill him? Somehow Severus doubted it, and it filled him with fresh fury and yes, fear.

He paced back and forth in his office, debating whether to confront the Headmaster, or keep this new information to himself.

0

Severus had been surly for the rest of the day, taking out his frustration with the Headmaster and the war on his next classes. He didn't attend supper in the Great Hall either. He hadn't sorted out his mind well enough to be face-to-face with Albus.

A knock at his door tore his mind away from his mental debate. The interruption was unwelcome and made him snarl.

"What?" he asked, flinging open the door.

It was Granger. He wanted to shout at her some more, but it did not do to shoot the messenger. It wasn't her fault Albus was lying to him and concealing things from him. In fact, if it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't know about it at all. And one this _was_ certain though. If this potion she was working on involved horcruxes, he wanted to be involved. Something of that importance was first on his agenda.

"You didn't specify the time or place of the detention, sir. I thought it best to ask clarification to avoid a misunderstanding," she said. Her speech was stilted and pretentious. He recognised that as a defence mechanism. Severus used it too. It kept a firm, impersonal barrier between oneself and one's interlocutor.

For the sake of knowledge, he'd have to try to contain his temper. He wanted as much information out of this girl as she possessed. Seeing as this was Hermione 'the Know-it-All' Granger, that probably meant a lot. For the first time, he didn't begrudge her for it. The more she knew, the more in turn he would know. He had to play _nice_.

Quickly looking out into the hall to make sure there were no passers-by (also known as witnesses), he invited her into his office.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," he said civilly, indicating the seat across from him.

She did so, putting aside all pretence. Good. She knew why she was really here. That would make things easier.

HG

His lack of usual venom disconcerted her and Hermione felt wrong footed. Uneasy. On guard. Mostly, she simply felt inescapable doom moving steadily toward her. He'd cornered her. This was the end. She told herself not to panic. There was always a way out. She'd managed in Umbridge's office in fifth year, hadn't she? But then again, that was a Ministry toady and this was Severus Snape. One of the most brilliant wizards of the day. There would be no way she could pull the wool over the eyes of a master double agent. It was his job to see through things.

"I have been trying, Miss Granger," he began, "for several weeks now to determine just what it could be that you are trying to brew."

Her jaw clenched in resolution not to speak.

"You _will_ tell me, Miss Granger," he insisted.

She shook her head. "I can't."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I could threaten you with expulsion, or even arrest, Miss Granger. And you and I both know that if you do not tell me now willingly, I shall simply be forced to take the information from your mind directly, anyway. Before they come to cart you away to Azkaban..."

His scowl darkened even more.

It wasn't as if she could lie to a Master Legilimens. To her frustration, she found that she was almost at the point of tears. She knew he was right. And he was the Order's spy. There were worse people she could confess to. "Because I think... I'm afraid..." She _was_ crying now but she pressed on despite it. It came out in one long tumbled, jumbled string of almost incomprehensible words. "Because I'm terrified that Harry might be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and I don't want him to have to die!" There. She said it. She was shaking from trying to suppress the sobs, but tears and snot dribbled down her face. She cried for Harry, cried for the wizarding world, and selfishly for herself, because she knew now she'd be forced to leave Hogwarts, leave her friends and most likely spend the next who knew how long in Azkaban for being caught experimenting with dangerous, dark and illegal magicks. She conjured a tissue and wiped her face, desperately trying to get a hold of herself.

Snape said nothing, did nothing. He just watched her with a cold, calculating look.

She managed to pull herself together. "Please don't send me to Azkaban, sir. The Ministry can't know what I'm working on. It would ruin Harry's chances of finding and destroying them! If You-Know-Who knew what we were doing..." A hiccough halted her speech, and she found that she didn't have the wherewithal to continue.

"Why did you not come to me before? I am the Order's Potions Master," he pointed out with a calmness and rationality that surprised her. Yes, why _hadn't_ she? Because they were used to doing things on their own. Because they weren't supposed to tell anyone about it. Because it was illegal.

While those were all true, she knew the real answer as to why she hadn't asked help from anybody. Fear.

"Because, sir, I assumed you had more important things to do with your time," she hedged.

"You think a potion such as this wouldn't interest me?"

"But I don't even know if it will work! It's only in the experimental stages. How could I trouble you with something that will most likely amount to nothing."

He simply arched an eyebrow. Discomfited by the continued silence, she felt compelled to keep talking. "I didn't want anyone to know about a failure. You'd only mock me," she admitted. She had spent so long trying to get the Potion Master's approval. She'd struggled so hard in his class to prove that she wasn't just another dunderhead. She wanted to show him that she really was an intelligent and capable potion brewer, why would she offer him this unfinished, unsuccessful project and give him more ammunition to hurl at her?

"A failure? Miss Granger, I begin to question your knowledge of potion making."

"Sir?"

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I know 58 ways _not_ to make a delectation draught."

"What's a delectation draught?" she asked, embarrassed at having to admit her ignorance in front of the perspicacious potions master, but having no choice.

"A brew I created myself. Not getting it right the first time does not mean failure, Ms. Granger. It's a step toward success. So come," he said, opening his arm and indicating the door to his lab. "Let us take that first step."

Was he honestly suggesting what she thought he was? She would be brewing with him? A disturbing and exhilarating thought. She'd have a genuine Potion Master helping her with her project. The things he could contribute, the knowledge she could glean from merely watching him! Hermione tried to curtail the sudden need to squeal with glee, as she knew it would displease the dour professor.

This had gone so much better than she had ever imagined. She'd expected months of detentions at best, years of prison at worst. But _this_. Oh, this was nothing less than a godsend. With the professor's help and discretion, they might be able to save Harry.

The moment they were in his lab, she began searching through her bag. She always kept her notes with her, for fear they'd be discovered by someone else when she wasn't there. Still, she kept it safe-guarded at all times. No one could read them but her. To everyone else, it would appear as History of Magic notes from September. She smoothed the parchment out on the tabletop and tapped it with her wand and muttered, "_Severus Snape_," under her breath so that her professor too, could read it.

She handed them over to him apprehensively but excited to see what he would think, wondering what contributions he might make, what suggestions he could provide. She'd taken careful notes of everything she'd used, how she'd gone about it, and the results of her trials. He spent the next half hour reading, and the next hour and a half after that discussing her notes and reworking her base. He also suggested a change in cauldron size. Although it was a relatively small amount of potion, a larger cauldron would distribute the heat more evenly along the bottom. She had agreed, and admitted that the only reason she hadn't already done that was because she didn't have a larger cauldron to hand, or the space in which to work with one.

"Now you do," he said simply, but didn't elaborate. She didn't feel like admitting that she'd been using the girls' toilet on the second floor to do her brewing again. She wasn't certain he knew about the polyjuice in her second year, but in case he did, she felt it best not to remind him.

Now she had a real lab to work in. It was almost dizzying to contemplate. He was offering his labs to her. It was her inner teacher's pet's dream come true. Part of her felt fulfilled. Accomplished. As if she'd finally done something worth his regard. Of course, that hadn't been _why_ she'd started this project. She'd wanted to save Harry. This was just a delightful bonus. The notice and acknowledgement of Professor Snape, the use of his labs, and the benefit of his tutelage. He was even slightly less caustic than usual. He listened to her ideas without snide comments, only gave reasonable points why her ideas may or may not work.

Yes, it was a good thing indeed he'd forced her to tell him.

O

It was past eleven o'clock before he'd told her to get back to Gryffindor tower, and that they'd continue this later. She wanted to ask when, but didn't want to seem overeager. She felt that if she hadn't spent the entire day with him earlier, she wouldn't have been able to so easily handle being in his presence for so long. Luckily, it seemed that fate had stepped in and given her some practice in handling him.

"Sorry about stealing from your stores, sir," she apologised as she was leaving his office.

He glared at her, as if that had been an incredibly gauche thing to say, so she left with no further comment.

As she made her way back to her dormitory she tried to think of something to tell the boys when they asked what Professor Snape made her do in detention. Perhaps slicing rat spleens and pickling newt eyes... That at least would explain why her hands smelled of ingredients. She wondered if the boys would even notice that anyway.

SS

The boy was a Horcrux. No wonder the Headmaster hadn't told him about any of this. Had he been given more time to think, he would doubtlessly had come to the same conclusion as Granger had. The Potter boy was a Horcrux, and Dumbledore had spent the last decade and a half using Lily's memory to keep her son alive as motivation to do what he wanted of him. Now, it turned out Albus was just using the boy, leading him blindly like a lamb to the slaughter.

He most certainly wouldn't tell the Headmaster he knew. Granger hadn't told Potter about (of which Severus approved) so Dumbledore wouldn't find out Severus had learned of it second-hand.

Severus could get his information through Granger about Albus and Potter about any Horcrux developments. He'd have to keep that connection open, no matter what. Meaning he couldn't terrorise her, scare her away. He thought he'd done a decent job that evening. Encouraging her where needed to make her want to return to him. He was a spy through and through. Manipulation was just part of the trade.

And now he could circumvent the Headmaster's machinations. If Granger's potion was successful, Potter wouldn't have to die like his mother, a sacrifice, and Lily's son would continue to be safe. Severus' debt might finally be repaid and he might attain peace at last.

If this war didn't claim his life. Which it might.

The thought, oddly, didn't bother him.

Death, too, would be peace.


	5. In Which A Fish is Caught

**_Chapter 5: _**_In Which a Fish is Caught_

It was as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her chest. No longer was Hermione harbouring a heavy secret. She had not only a confidant, but a partner as well. Suddenly the prospect of saving Harry's life was not so daunting. She now had help from a man who been saving Harry's life for years.

An odd thought, that. Considering how much Professor Snape hated Harry, Snape had put his life on the line many times for him. That just showed how true he was to the cause. Her respect for her Potions Orofessor rose another notch.

Instead of going to bed, like she told the boys, she closed the curtains around her four-poster, Silenced the enclosed space, lit her wand, and kept working.

Professor Snape had given her much to think about, and her mind was spinning with fresh possibilities.

O

"Merlin, Mione, what happened to you? I thought you went to bed early?" said Ron the next morning at breakfast.

"I did," she lied. "I just didn't sleep well."

"No wonder you had nightmares, after your detention. Must have been horrifying." He didn't specify which was horrifying, the nightmares or the detention, but Hermione rather assumed he meant both.

She was embarrassed when she found her mind had been wandering during Charms. Luckily she came up with the correct answer when Professor Flitwick asked her a question, but it was mostly luck. Of course, no one knew she came close to getting it wrong, but she did, and she made herself promise to pay attention, and to leave any thoughts of potions in the dungeons... or the library... or her bedroom.

She skipped lunch to look something up in the restricted section. She, Harry and Ron had scoured the library for information on Horcruxes, but anything remotely relevant was vague and uninformative. Still, it was the excuse she gave Harry when she asked to borrow his invisibility cloak. He handed it over wishing her luck.

What she would really have liked to have done, was ask the headmaster about the dragon's blood, as he was the man who found the twelve uses for it. Hermione thought it might make a decent substitute for the Re'em blood _if_ it would not immediately react badly with the hellebore. She thought she'd read something in _Moste Potente Potions_ back in second year, where the two had been used together in a certain brew. She wanted to look it up again, and perhaps find what other ingredients were used to stabilise it the two, and whether or not those ingredients would be compatible with her own potion. It might be a long shot, but she couldn't afford to overlook any possibilities. This was Harry's life.

.

Hermione dutifully paid attention during History of Magic while the boys enjoyed their free period doing she knew not what. Probably playing chess when they should be thinking about Horcruxes or at least doing their homework.

All free time before and after dinner was spent in the library, that is, until she decided to visit Professor Snape. She still had Harry's cloak from that afternoon, and at eight o'clock, she quietly made her way to the dungeons, not passing anyone on the way apart from the Fat Friar.

Still concealed, she knocked on his door. He appeared a moment later, intense black scowl firmly in place.

"Erm..." she began uncertainly.

He looked up and down the corridor for his visitor and growled, "Peeves!" before continuing to scan the hallway.

"Quickly, foolish girl," he hissed under his breath, without even moving his lips.

Realising that looking about for Peeves had simply been a cover, she slipped in.

When his office door closed behind him she started to apologise for the intrusion but he cut her off.

"Did I ask you to come?" he inquired caustically.

"No, but I—"

"Then why. Are. You. Here?"

Oh dear, he wasn't pleased. Well, this was Severus Snape, after all. She'd never seen him pleased about anything other than the thought of expelling Harry and Ron or being the one to hand Sirius Black over to the Dementors.

"I'm here to ask you a question about the possibility of substituting dragon's blood for the Re'em blood."

He looked torn between yelling at her for being there, and yelling at her for making what he clearly thought was a stupid suggestion. Either way she prepared herself to be bawled out. Well, she was just going to have to get used to it if she was going to be working with him.

At last, he pinched his nose and sat down behind his desk.

"Why," he began, "would you think dragon's blood would be better and _why_ did you think you would bring it up now, in the evening, when you have no excuse for being here?"

_Both_, she thought almost amusedly. He was going to take her to task for both.

"I came under the cloak," she defended.

"Yes, but what have you told your little friends?"

"That I'm studying in the library."

"And what if they come to the library?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Harry and Ron in the library? I thought you'd know them better than that, Professor."

He snorted.

"On the off chance anyone asks why I _wasn't_ there, I can say it was too busy and I decided to study in an unused classroom."

"They won't think that's odd?" he asked archly.

Hermione grimaced. "I'm sure they will," she replied. "But the point is they won't think it out of character."

Talking about her own social awkwardness was not what she had come to discuss.

"You had a reason, I assume, for suggesting the substitution?"

Good, back on track. While she didn't put it past her Professor to take extra time out of his day to humiliate her, thankfully, it appeared he felt now was not the moment.

"Re'em blood is too unstable, I think. Dragon's blood would be better if we could ensure that adding it to the hellebore wouldn't melt the cauldron." She withdrew her notes as she continued. "I read about the use of certain water weeds of to suffuse the two."

"Did you, Miss Granger."

It was the first thing she had said and she realised that once again she had been talking a blue streak. Now that she'd come to a stop she saw the accusatory glare. No point in denying it. If she could trust him with the knowledge that she'd bought illegal potion ingredients, that she had stolen from his personal stores, she could admit that she'd read _Moste Potente Potions_ without permission. All things considered, it was the least of her crimes.

"I might have been done some research in the Restricted Section," she said. "Will you assign the detention now or later?"

Oh, too bold, she thought the moment she said it. That had been too bold. Teasing Professor Snape about detention was not a healthy past-time.

His dark eyes gave her a once over and he snatched her notes from her hands.

"Later," he promised, and began reading.

O

If she thought that after three hours of working on the potion, he would have forgotten about the detention, she was wrong.

"Report to Mr. Filch tomorrow at 8 for your detention. Goodnight, Miss Granger."

_Filch?_ He was giving her detention with _Filch_?

She was sputtering indignantly even as he threw the cloak over her and physically shoved her out of his office, slamming the door behind him.

When she regained her composure, she stuck out her chin and stormed back to Gryffindor tower. Snape was only sour that she'd thought of it first, and sought to 'put her in her place.' That was it.

Or...

Or he was just a greasy bat with a foul temper and worse manners.

She sighed, she'd never let the boys hear her say things like that, not after all the times she'd told them off for insulting him.

_Ugh_. She had detention with _Filch_ the next day. And she'd spent the entire day working on her project and not on doing homework. She wouldn't have time to do it tomorrow night either, no doubt she'd be up to her elbows in trophy polish.

Resigning herself to yet another late night, she began her homework for the next few days. She was Head Girl after all. She had marks and an image to maintain. That and there was a part of her that shuddered in horror at the thought of not having her homework completed on time.

O

The next day she did not seek Snape out. She dutifully did her detention with Filch, returned to Gryffindor tower after midnight once she had thoroughly cleaned the owlery floor... without magic. Needless to say she spent a long and careful time scrubbing herself clean.

She didn't go to see him the next day either, partly because she was angry about that disgusting detention, but also because the night before he had indicated that he would summon her when he wanted.

And despite him being terribly rude all the time, she did not want to irritate the man who was doing her such a large favour and who had kindly not turned her in to the authorities for buying non-tradable goods.

Still, she didn't stop in her research. Apart from her usual studies, it took up most her waking hours. For some reason, she felt as if time were ticking down to the zero hour, the moment when Harry would have to face Voldemort.

Harry had said that he and the Headmaster had found and destroyed all but three of the seven horcruxes, which meant that only Nagini, Harry, and one unknown remained. Except that Harry thought that it was Nagini and _two_ unknowns remained. Dumbledore hadn't seen it fit to correct him.

It seemed as if they had the same conversation over and over again. That Saturday afternoon was no different. Walking about the lake, their cloaks clutched tightly around them against the bitter cold, they reviewed all the old ideas (and a few new weak ones) of what it could be of Rowena Ravenclaw's that Voldemort used as a Horcrux, and where it might be hidden.

They seemed incapable of not having these conversations but when they did, it always left them feeling frustrated, as they never got anywhere. Hermione thought she'd ask Professor Snape if he knew anything, but if he did, presumably he would have already told the headmaster, so really there was no point.

O

It had been a week since he'd given her that detention, almost two since she had jumped back in time and spent the day with him. She began to wonder if he was ever going to ask her to brew with him again, or if he'd only said that to get her out of his hair.

She secretly began brewing in the girls' toilet on the second floor, trying to perfect the base on her own. She was making progress, she knew that. But was it enough? She didn't have enough of the main ingredients for more than a few tests. After that, it would be very difficult indeed to procure more, especially as it was no longer the holidays and doing so would mean sneaking out of Hogwarts all together. That and it would require more gold, which she didn't have.

It was quite late, nearly one in the morning when the Grey Lady floated in the bathroom, presumably to check on Myrtle.

"What are you doing here?" she asked accusingly.

Well, that should be quite obvious. Cauldron, bubbling concoction, array of potions ingredients. One might conclude she was brewing.

"Diarrhea," Hermione said sarcastically, earning a scowl from the Ravenclaw ghost who turned away and swooshed out of the room again.

Oh no. Damn damn damn. No doubt she was off to fetch Filch or a teacher. She could dismantle her workstation and Vanish her potion, but that would mean losing hard work and expensive and rare ingredients. Or she could stay there and hope that she'd be able to lie about what it was and be allowed to keep it.

Perhaps she could hide it? But where? The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was only a yard or two away, but she didn't know any Parseltongue. She probably wouldn't be able to safely move it in time anyway. She could try a notice-me-not charm, but no doubt the Grey Lady would have reported that Hermione had been brewing.

She'd have to put a stasis charm on it either way, but that wouldn't hold for very long. She was at a crucial part of the brewing and couldn't abandon it.

Sighing, she decided that she would simply continue brewing until whoever it was came to punish her, then she'd take it up with the Headmaster, tell him what she was doing and why. She'd confront him about the horrible way he was treating Harry, hiding this from him.

Granted, she was hiding it too, but she was trying to fix it, not promote it.

Yes, she'd finally be able to tell the Headmaster what she thought of him and his _d__eus ex __m__achina _attitude, sacrificing lives and not even telling people the truth. If he wanted to expel her, then fine. She'd at least tell Harry before she left. If she wouldn't be allowed to try to spare him his fate, he at least had a right to know what that fate was. Dumbledore didn't always know best. What was it Snape had said? "_He's only a Gryffindor when it suits him_"? Too true. And she'd...

Oh dear.

He looked absolutely furious. His nostrils flared, black robes billowing around him as he flew into the room.

She tried not to show any emotion. She kept stirring evenly in a clockwise direction. Her hand, to her utter surprise, didn't even tremble.

47, 48, 49...

"What are you doing here?" he asked angrily. Again with the stupid questions.

"A rhetorical question, I'm assuming? Surely a Potions Master could recognise brewing when he sees it."

However angry he was, Hermione was relieved it had been Professor Snape, out of everyone it could have been. He already knew what she was working on, and now she wouldn't have to destroy it.

She'd made him even angrier with her sarcastic response, though. She didn't even know where it came from, or what had possessed her to be so disrespectful to a teacher. Harry and Ron's influence, perhaps? Snape certainly thought so.

"Just like Potter," he sneered. "Wandering the castle at night, thinking you can get away with anything. Well, you can't, Miss Granger."

62, 63, 64...

She didn't say anything, just kept stirring, refusing to look up at him. Part cowardice, part defiance.

"Answer me!" he bellowed.

"What was the question?" she asked.

"What. Are. You. Doing here?" he repeated.

"Brewing," she answered. "I couldn't wait for you to condescend to make time for me," she said brazenly.

Having finished her 71 stirs, she finally looked up. Snape had opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then shot Myrtle (specter and spectator to this scene) a glare so fierce she fled back into the U-bend.

Even when she was gone, he didn't speak, as she thought he would. He just stood there, staring at her as if she were an affront to his reason.

After a minute of painful silence, he said in a frighteningly calm voice, "If you ever do anything so foolish again, I will take away your notes and you will no longer be allowed to work on this project."

"You can't do that!"

"Oh, yes, I can, Miss Granger."

"But Harry needs me!"

"Then I suggest that you start using that prized brain of yours and stop acting so imbecilic!" He no longer sounded calm. "Brewing alone in a _toilet_! Possibility of gross contamination aside, there's the matter of security, secrecy, and safety."

"Myrtle's here. She promised to fetch Madame Pomfrey if I blew myself up," she mumbled.

"No doubt she'd leave you in hopes of having a companion with whom to haunt the cubicles," he snarled.

"I didn't feel as if I had much of a choice," she insisted. She refused to be made to feel like a naughty school-child when what she was doing was so very important to Harry's life and therefore the war. He was right about the secrecy, though. However rarely used Murtle's bathroom was, it was still a public place, and the secret of her potion could have been revealed.

"I've perfected the base," she said at random.

"As. have. I," he intoned pointedly.

_Oh_. She had, foolishly, it seemed, assumed that he hadn't been working on it, because he hadn't contacted her. Looking back she could see how terribly vain and naïve that had been. He didn't need her help. Why should he waste his time in summoning her when she was, for the most part, wholly unnecessary?

"I continued with the Re'em blood," she offered shortly.

"I used dragon," he said just as laconically as she had.

For some reason, these two statements seemed to cause a more awkward tension than anything thus far. They were both interested in the progress the other had made and eager to discuss it, but there was that large inescapable barrier of the current situation. That being that they were in a girls' toilet in the middle of the night. It was hardly the time or the place for such a discussion, especially since he was furious with her and was no doubt debating what would make the most effective punishment.

"Get out," he said at last, pointing needlessly to the exit, as if she didn't know where it was.

"But my base—" she began, unwilling to simply leave her hard work there on the bathroom floor.

"_Out__!_" he repeated, this time more forcefully. He didn't look as if he intended to leave immediately, so she obeyed, assuming (hoping) that he intended on properly storing it and taking it back to his laboratory and cleaning up. As she scuttled out of the room she hoped that he would give her back her cauldron, she needed that for class on Monday.

Still, the fact that he had taken her suggestion and used dragon blood, and to great effect at that, made a part of her flutter with excitement. He had listened to her, thought her idea worthwhile, and _proved_ that it had been. Despite all the trouble of dealing with the snarky Slytherin, she could barely seem to focus on the drawbacks when the rewards were so gratifying.

.

Hermione didn't go to breakfast Saturday morning, as she had been up late the night before in Myrtle's bathroom. She roused a bit when she heard her dorm-mates rise and leave, but she went back to sleep.

She was awoken earlier than she had hoped when Parvati started shaking her.

"Colin Creevey is in the common room," she said, sounding as if she disliked the task of being a messenger. Hermione's sleep fogged mind didn't quite comprehend.

"Colin? What's he want?" she asked tiredly.

"How should I know? Go down and ask." That was the end of the conversation for the girl left in a huff.

Hermione groaned, and rolled out of bed. Unwilling to appear in the common room in her pyjamas (as most likely everyone else would be dressed already), she quickly threw on her school robes and made a perfunctory attempt to tame her hair before descending into the lion's den.

Colin immediately accosted her.

"What did you need, Colin?" she asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She really didn't appreciate being woken up. If this was just another attempt of Colin's to get Hermione to get some item or signature of Harry's, she'd take the boy to task.

"I've a message for you from Professor Snape," he said, sounding nervous.

At this, Harry and Ron, who had been sitting on a nearby couch playing Exploding Snap in front of the fire, turned around in their seats and opened listened in on her conversation.

"Oh?"

"He says..." Colin swallowed, as if gathering his nerve. "He says that if you sleep through another detention, Gryffindor will lose so many points that we will lose the House Cup for a decade to come. And that you are to report to him immediately."

Hermione fancied that she made a very convincing show of being aghast, exasperated, and frightened all at the same time, giving nothing of her true excitement away.

"Blimey, Hermione. Snape's really got it out for you. Usually he's only this bad to Harry," said Ron.

"Well, I did steal from his stores. And Professor Snape doesn't strike me as the 'forgive and forget' type."

In fact, if anyone could hold a grudge, it was the Potions Master, Hermione thought. Even after years and learning that he was wrongfully imprisoned, Snape had _still_ hated Sirius enough to want him dead.

Then again, Sirius had almost killed him with that horrible prank using Remus. That was understandable. Something Hermione didn't quite comprehend was how he could continue to hate James Potter so much that it carried over to his son, Harry.

"I'll see you later," she said. "And you better have those Transfiguration essays finished when I get back!" she said sternly.

"Her_mione_..." Ron said plaintively. "It's Saturday morning, we have the whole rest of the weekend to do it."

"Yes, Ronald, but you won't. If you don't finish it now, then I won't look over it later," she threatened.

Ron groaned, and Harry resignedly knocked over the entire castle of cards down, in a massive explosion before pulling out his books,

Once certain that the boys were doing what they should be, she left.

SS

Hermione Granger was not a witch to be left to her own devices, Severus concluded. He had, perhaps, overestimated his effect on her. He ought to have known better, he reflected. She wouldn't sit patiently in Gryffindor tower. She had clearly not trusted him enough and continued on her own without consulting him.

Foolish, headstrong, impatient Gryffindor.

This could be a problem. Not just in terms of creating the potion but in using the girl for information. Clearly she needed more contact. He could not let her alone for a week, or she would stray. She was too independent, yes, he knew that now. He needed her to depend on him.

Severus grumbled. He hated to have to make exceptions, particularly for a Gryffindor, but it looked as if he'd have to. If he wanted her to confide in him, he'd have to play nice.

_Nicer_, anyway. The day he offered her a sherbet lemon he'd drown himself in the lake, and hang the war and everyone else.

He toyed with the idea of punishing her for being out after curfew, but decided against it, in the end. Again, that damned special treatment she needed would no doubt earn him a few points in the girl's eyes. Points he apparently desperately needed.

The next morning at breakfast he discreetly scanned the Gryffindor table for her. A fruitless effort. She wasn't there.

Gritting his teeth he looked for someone who would be satisfyingly frightened of him, but who could also be trusted to give the message.

His eyes fell on Creevey and he sneered slightly.

O

She appeared at his office door half an hour later, her hair looking as if she had been dragged backward through a hedge.

He stood back from his office door and opened a hand, indicating that she should pass through.

"Sit," he said, making sure it didn't sound like a barked order. She did so and he initiated his plan.

He asked her to explain what she had done, although he knew very well already, he had studied her base the night before. He was just letting the show-off show off.

For several minutes she spoke, trying to contain her excitement as she did.

Begrudgingly, he had to admit (only to himself, naturally) that the girl was clever. Yes, she'd reached the same conclusion as he had, but by a completely different route. Her explanation had actually been enlightening, and for some reason that bothered him.

He moved her into the lab, where he needed to brew a fresh batch of Pepper Up for the hospital wing. They could talk while he brewed.

"Sit there and don't touch anything," he told her.

She sat on the wooden stool by the workbench, a little way down from his cauldron and watched him as he set out the tools he'd need for this brew. He cleaned them again to be safe, and laid them out in the order in which he'd need them, then fetched the necessary ingredients.

Back at his workbench, he asked her to continue with any thoughts she may have. There was no danger of her being silent, and he listened to her as he chopped, diced, mashed and pounded.

He'd occasionally interject with a 'mm-hmm' or 'I see,' but hadn't had to stir himself to much else. When he'd determined that she was comfortable in her surroundings, he posed her a question, as if casually.

"What do you know about Horcruxes, Miss Granger?"

"Sir?"

"You are trying to create something that will remove one from Mr. Potter. I assume you know something about them."

"What do you want to know?" she asked uneasily.

"I want to know how much you do _not_ know, then we can continue your education from there."

Brightening at the idea that he would be teaching her, the girl (in typical Granger fashion) proceeded to recite everything she knew. He listened, making a point _not_ to look at her; she might find that discomfiting. He kept his eyes on the potion, watching a light mist rise as he stirred.

He had to wait through an hour of lecture before she gave him what he wanted.

"And apart from Nagini, I _think_ Harry's the only live Horcrux. It would be nice to test it on the snake first, but I don't know that it's possible. One because... well, you'd know the difficulties of getting to that serpent, let alone making it drink something. I know _I_ wouldn't want to go anywhere near her fangs. Not after poor Mr. Weasley."

"The second?" he prompted as he bottled the completed potion.

"The second, obviously, is that a snake would metabolize a potion differently than a human."

Obviously, as she said. Severus just wanted to see if she'd come to that conclusion herself. He really should start giving her the benefit of the doubt, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. There really wasn't anyone he was willing to give that to, not even Dumbledore. Perhaps especially Dumbledore. But Granger was simple, in her way. Her motives were plain, easily read, and she was a Gryffindor, who were notoriously bad at concealing their intentions. Minerva was like that too. And Lily. If Severus wanted to be honest with himself, he had to admit that with all the time he spent in the Dark Lord's company, among the Death Eaters, it was almost a relief to be near Gryffindors. Everything was loud and upfront, and while that was annoying most times, it meant he had less to worry about.

However, she had shown Slytherin-like traits upon occasion, even if they were for Gryffindor reasons. She could keep a secret from her own best friends, a rather large one. Severus didn't trust people who kept secrets (which was everyone.) But he was included in this one. Did she have more?

Severus wanted to find out and after two seconds of considering it, decided not to secretly try Legilimency on her. It hadn't gone well last time and if she caught him at it again, he might lose her trust.

He'd have to somehow get her to volunteer her mind to him.

Since Severus himself couldn't ever imagine willingly opening his mind to anyone for any reason, he thought it was a lost hope, but then he remembered with whom he was dealing, and there was a sure way to get to her, no matter what.

"Tell me, Miss Granger. Do you know if Potter has been continuing to practice his Occlumency?" he asked. The hook was baited.

Granger looked down guiltily, as if the boy's failings were her own. "He hasn't, sir," she admitted. Severus could tell that it wasn't from lack of effort on her part though.

Severus groaned. "I suspected not."

He was saved the need of reeling her in by his fish jumping into his net of her own accord.

"Teach me," she said eagerly. "And I can teach Harry."

He gave her a scowl, as if he despised the idea, even though it had been his very intention. Occlumency lessons with Granger was a perfect excuse to search through her head.

His silence made her nervous and she continued, "I know Harry has it in him. I just don't think... er… that is... I think your teaching method and his learning style were... erm... incompatible."

"You are criticising my methods?" he asked dangerously. He liked watching Gryffindors squirm.

"No, not at all! If that were the case I wouldn't ask for you to teach me."

Valid point, that. Touché.

"And you think you could make Potter learn?"

"I think I have a better chance of getting through to him, yes, sir."

He made a show of considering her for a time before replying, "Perhaps."

He magicked all the phials into a box. "Take it to Madame Pomfrey. Your detention is finished."

He would have to buy a Pensieve, for he would _not_ be asking the Headmaster to borrow his. A costly measure but a necessary one.

Recurring lessons would also give him frequent updates as to what Potter and Dumbledore were up to without having to spend hours wheedling the information out of her through (dis?)honest conversation.

However, if she grew too proficient he'd really just be arming her against him in the future. He didn't like that idea at all, but he'd also be protecting her and the secret of the Horcruxes and their potion as well.

It was a win-lose situation no matter what the angle.


	6. Progress

_Author's Note: My sincerest thanks to my wonderfully enthusiastic beta, who makes this story ever so much tidier and more comprehensible that it was. _

_.  
_

**Chapter Six:** _**Progress**_

_**.  
**_

"He's up to something," said Harry with furious certainty. He, Ron and Hermione had just seen the younger Malfoy leaving Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor while they were under the cloak.

They had, as if of one mind, gone into the nearest empty classroom and warded themselves inside it.

While Harry always seemed a bit paranoid when it came to Draco Malfoy, Hermione had to admit she couldn't think of anything innocent he could be up to in the girls' toilet.

"He's a Death Eater, I know it," said Harry.

"Erm... I'll be the first to admit that dark wizards are barking," said Ron. "But tossing about in a girl's toilet doesn't exactly mean he's a Death Eater."

Hermione was glad Ron had said it. She had wanted to make the same point but didn't think she could have put it as well as Ron had, in a way that wouldn't make Harry explode in a temper.

"But the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in that bathroom. What other reason _would_ he have for being there?"

Ron looked awkward. "Perhaps he just fancied a chat with Myrtle?" he suggested feebly, lifting one shoulder.

Harry glowered at Ron. "He's trying to open the Chamber," he said decidedly.

"But the Basilisk is dead, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

"Really?" said Harry sarcastically. "I know I shoved a sword through its head but I didn't notice that it died."

All right, so she deserved that. "I'm saying that there's nothing in the Chamber worth Malfoy's or a Death Eater's trouble."

"How do you know what's in the Chamber, Hermione? Voldemort could have hidden loads of things down there." Harry stopped abruptly, his face almost euphoric with discovery. "What if that's where he's hidden a Horcrux?"

"Yeah!" said Ron eagerly. "Makes sense, dunn'it? When he put it there, he must've thought there was no safer place, right? What with that great bloody snake down there and all. Plus it takes a Parselmouth to get in, and it's not as if you meet one of those every day." At this, he gave Harry a friendly nudge with his elbow.

"But Draco's not a Parselmouth," Hermione pointed out.

"Perhaps Voldemort taught him how," said Ron.

"Why would he do that?"

"How would I know what goes through the head of a lunatic? Maybe he wants Draco to make sure it's still there." Ron was nodding furiously, as if holding a conversation with himself and agreeing with his own point. For someone who claimed he couldn't understand the mind of a lunatic, Ron was awfully batty at times.

"At any rate, we need to see what's in the Chamber. I say we go down there. Tonight."

She recognised the looks on the boys' faces and knew there was no chance of talking them out of it. She'd simply have to go along, just like the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year.

.

She would tell Snape, she decided at dinner. He knew about the Horcruxes. And if Harry was right about Draco being a Death Eater, then he might also know what Draco was doing and spare them the trouble of going into the Chamber. She shuddered at the thought.

Ron and Harry had both been in it before, but Hermione hadn't, and curious though she may be in general, she had no desire to visit it and would do so _only_ if she had to.

Professor Snape could help determine if it was necessary or not.

She sincerely hoped it wasn't.

SS

Severus scowled at the knocking sound coming from his office door. Apparently he couldn't have more than half a dozen minutes to himself without being interrupted either by insane serpentine despots, twinkly-eyed Headmasters or insufferable dunderheaded students.

Since Albus usually used the Floo and the Dark Lord used the Mark, Severus concluded it must be one of his pathetic pupils come to call.

Damn and blast.

"What?" he snarled as he opened the door, wanting to scare them off.

Hermione Granger didn't look the least bit afraid. Not of him, anyway. She was bouncing on her toes in urgent appeal. He scowled but moved aside.

"They think Rowena Ravenclaw's artefact is in the Chamber of Secrets," she blurted out.

This made absolutely no sense so he requested she try again.

"Well, you know how there's a Horcrux from each founder..."

Actually he _hadn't_ known that, but of course he wouldn't say as much. The point was for her to let him know these things, and so far it was working. He let her continue babbling at top speed.

"We saw Draco Malfoy leaving the girls' bathroom and Harry has it in his head that it means that Draco is a Death Eater and trying to get into the Chamber."

He took a moment to process this. Yes, Draco _was_ a Death Eater, but his mission was to kill the Headmaster, not get into the Chamber of Secrets. Unless Severus was woefully uninformed, which was not a happy state for a spy. Uninformed spies led short lives.

No, he didn't think Draco knew about the Horcruxes. If the Dark Lord hadn't informed his closest Death Eater informant, he wouldn't have told the greenest recruit who was but a pawn in his father's punishment. But the fact remained that Draco had been loitering in the girls' toilet, for which Severus could not think of a single logical explanation. One thing was for certain, he needed to check up on the boy, but Draco's wilful independence was making that difficult.

"Continue, Miss Granger," he said evenly, unable to believe that she'd simply hand over this information for free. But then he remembered that she wasn't used to dealing with people the way he was.

.

HG

.

"Ron and Harry suspect it's likely that Volde-"

"Don't!" he hissed. "...say the name."

"It's just a name," said Hermione.

"Not," he drawled in a voice of deathly seriousness as he lifted his sleeve, "if you have one of these." The Dark Mark stood out starkly against his pale skin. The serpent protruding from the skull seemed to hiss at her menacingly. She knew that couldn't be, though. It was just a trick of the firelight, her imagination getting the best of her.

But in keeping with that ineffable serpentine ability, she was mesmerised by it. She even wanted to reach out and touch it, but didn't for fear of it biting her. Or rather of Professor Snape lashing out. Still, the fact that he had even shown it to her was amazing.

Only when he lowered his sleeve did she snap out of her trance and continue.

"Ron and Harry suspect that it's likely that You-Know-Who stored the other founders' items in Slytherin's lair. Like a snake, they say.

"Still, it _is_ a possibility that Vo-" she stopped herself this time. "That he _has_ hidden _something_ down there, perhaps a Horcrux _is _in the Chamber of Secrets. They plan on going tonight and I couldn't stop them and I can't let them go on their own, so if I'm not back by two in the morning, send someone after us. If I can, I'll send a Patronus if we get into any trouble."

She was gasping a bit after saying all this in one breath, and she was in a hurry to get back to Ron and Harry so they could prepare. She had turned around to race back out of the office again when there was a yank and her robes began to choke her about the neck.

She made a very unattractive sputtering noise and fell back a few steps until she could breathe again.

Snape had grabbed hold of her cloak hood.

Coughing, she rubbed her throat where it hurt most and turned to face him. "You could have just said 'wait' or something," she bit out reproachfully.

"Actions speak louder than words," he said. "A very Gryffindor aphorism."

"All right, you've got my attention," she said sourly. Snape glared back.

"Sit down, Miss Granger."

.

At midnight precisely, the trio tip-toed into the girls' bathroom on the second floor.

Harry whispered at the tap in Parseltongue and Hermione watched in wonder and trepidation as the sink moved, transforming into a hole through which they were supposed to slide.

She remembered what she was supposed to do and said, "Let's leave the cloak here, Harry. It won't do us any good down there, and it'll only get lost or in the way."

Harry nodded and tossed it aside as Hermione began magically fastening a rope around the base of the nearest toilet.

"Right," Harry said. "I'll go first then, shall I?" He took the end of the long rope, gave them a somewhat fey smile and jumped in, disappearing down into the darkness with a swoosh. The thought of jumping down that tunnel made Hermione's stomach turn unpleasantly.

"You next or shall I?" asked Ron.

"You go," she said, biting her lip and feeling a bit dizzy.

"All right." He was about to jump through as well before he turned around and put a hand on her arm. "There's nothing to it, you know. It's actually a bit fun, really. You know when some bloke's tried to get up to the girls' rooms and the staircase turns into a slide?"

"Of course," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant but missing the mark quite a bit.

"Well... it's sort of like that. Only longer and faster. And darker. And...erm…slimier." His hand had found its way to his hair and he was ruffling it uncertainly. "Really, 'Mione, you've nothing to worry about. You can do it." He gave her arm another gentle squeeze before turning back around and hopping into the gaping mouth to the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione let out the huff of air she'd been keeping in her lungs and turned towards the stalls.

Severus Snape stepped out of the last cubicle in the row and approached her. She reached down to the floor and handed him the invisibility cloak. He studied it (almost covetously, she thought) before draping it over himself.

He came to stand directly next to her, not that she could see, of course, but the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle and she simply knew he was there.

The benefits of descending the passage together were twofold. One, it would mean that any noise Snape made coming out of the tunnel would be taken for hers, so the boys wouldn't know he was there. Secondly, she would feel much better going with someone else, because she really was quite daunted by the prospect of descending alone (or at all, for that matter).

The latter reason she hadn't shared with Professor Snape, of course, but she suspected he knew now, given how Ron had treated her before he left and how pale her face was in the mirror.

"Give it to me," said the seemingly disembodied voice. She'd heard Harry speak from under the cloak before and it wasn't nearly so affecting. The professor's voice was much lower than Harry's. Deeper. Smoother. Somehow more compelling. And definitely more frightening.

Hermione wasn't sure if it would work under the cloak but didn't dare argue, so she held out only part of the supply.

Starting from the floor, parts of his black robes appeared, followed by a hand, which snatched the powder away before disappearing again.

"On the count of three," he commanded.

Hermione would rather it be a hundred, but she couldn't keep Ron and Harry waiting that long.

"One."

Hermione stiffened.

"Two."

She squeezed her eyes and held her breath.

"Three."

She... did nothing. She just stood there, unable to make herself jump.

She heard a very animal like growl of annoyance beside her, then an arm clamped down over her shoulders. Next thing she knew, Snape had jumped in, taking her with him.

Hermione didn't like flying. The same, it proved, could be said for sliding. Or at least, sliding down hundreds of feet in utter darkness over who-knows-what, going faster than anyone should go.

It was terrifying, the blinding rush through, over and around, not seeing when massive turns in the piping were coming but having no choice but to go through. She screamed only for the first few moments, then she became too distracted by her churning stomach and blind panic to even do that anymore.

Rather than throwing the powder when they landed, as she had planned, the abrupt end of the tunnel/slide caused her to drop the stuff as she fell. It was a miracle she hadn't let go of it during the ride down. That had been going to be her excuse when the boys asked, and now she didn't even have to lie.

Snape, presumably, threw his powder as well, and when they emerged from the tunnel, everything was momentarily blanketed in darkness, courtesy of Fred and George and the supply of Peruvian Instant Darkness powder they sold in their joke shop. They had agreed to bring some alone in case they needed to make a hasty get away from anything or anyone that might unexpectedly be down there.

"Hermione!" the boys shouted. "Are you alright? Where are you? What happened?"

As Snape readjusted the cloak around him in the dark, Hermione reassured the boys, "I'm fine. I just dropped a bit of the darkness powder when I fell."

Slowly, the effects of the powder faded away and she could see the light from their wands, weakly illuminating the stone room in which she now found herself.

Harry and Ron took an elbow each and helped her to her feet. Ron made an attempt of brushing off the back of her skirt but she batted his hand away. It was fully soiled, along with the back of her legs, from whatever filth she'd slid through on the journey down, so no little brushing would do any good. Cleaning charms could only go so far as well, but she did her best.

Once Harry was convinced she was all right, he took over again.

"Right, you know what to keep an eye out for. Once we get inside, we'll spread out. If anyone finds anything, don't touch it, just send a Patronus and the other two will come. Got it?"

Hermione and Ron nodded, and then Harry turned and spoke another few words in that hissing language and a larger, more elaborate entrance appeared.

They each set off slowly and carefully in different directions.

It was cold, dark and so very eerie down there, so after a minute of going off by herself, she shrieked in terrified surprise when she heard a voice right next to her.

She'd forgotten about Snape entirely. She'd thought he would follow Harry, not her.

Her cry of alarm brought Ron running to her side, once again asking her what was wrong.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she assured him. "I was just startled by a..." she thought quickly. "A spider web. I walked through a spider web and there were spiders all over me."

At this news, Ron blanched and took a step back, looking at the ground quickly, trying to spot arachnids that weren't there.

"If you're all right then, I'll just..." He jerked his thumb back to where he had been before and trotted off hastily, trying to put as much distance between him and those non-existent spiders as he could.

Once she was certain she'd gotten rid of Ron, she turned to where she judged Snape was. "You startled me terribly," Hermione whispered. "I thought you'd gone with Harry."

"In a moment," he said. That velvety voice, pitched low so as not to carry in the high vaulted chamber, was no longer frightening. Rather, in that dark and strange room where she could almost feel the malevolent magic verily imbued in the walls themselves, his voice soothed her_._ "You remember the spell?"

She did, of course, and said so. He'd made her go over it several times in his office that evening. Neither of them was certain the spell would work. _Hominem Revelio _revealed people; the slightly altered _Almen Revelio_ would hopefully reveal the presence of a soul.

A thought occurred to her.

"What happens if you cast that spell around Harry?" she whispered. Obviously the spell (if it worked) would indicate Snape's and Harry's own soul, and would it also flare on Harry's forehead? Would Harry feel it? Would it hurt him? Either way, it was too risky. "You can't do it, he might--"

"Quiet," he said, and she instantly fell silent. At first, she had thought it had been because he had heard something, perhaps Harry or Ron approaching, but it turned out he simply wanted her to stop talking. Feeling tricked, she frowned in his general direction.

"You remember what I told you to do?"

"Yes," she replied succinctly, still pouting.

The invisible man snorted. "You usually parrot off more information than that."

"You told me to be quiet," she pointed out. She knew he wanted her to repeat what she was supposed to do, just to be sure, but she felt like being as uncooperative as possible. Just as he would have done, she had no doubt.

"Granger," he growled dangerously. Rolling her eyes, she rattled off his instructions.

Had he been visible, she knew he would have nodded, so as to avoid offering a verbal confirmation. It would be unlike Snape to say 'very good' or 'well done' or even 'right then'. Instead he said simply, "Don't do anything foolish," then walked off with footsteps loud enough to tell her he was taking his leave but not loud enough to alert anyone else he was approaching.

She shrugged, and yet felt less nervous about being down there. She had a plan and a teacher was with them. That shouldn't really have made the situation seem any less dangerous, but to the swot inside of her, it seemed less like rule-breaking and more like a sanctioned venture.

She continued looking around, but unless Rowena Ravenclaw had a prized broken brick or rat skull, Hermione doubted the Horcrux was anywhere near her. She'd thought that perhaps they wouldn't find it at all, as the other objects had been carefully and magically hidden away, but she reminded herself that Voldemort would no doubt have considered two Parseltongue-protected passwords in the lair of an overlarge Basilisk ample protection for the fragment of his soul.

It seemed like hours of wandering to her, roaming down narrow passage after narrow passage, nearly twisting her ankle half a dozen times on slippery rodent remains.

She was nearing the end of yet another tunnel, and by the way her wand light was swallowed by the darkness, she could see that it opened up to a much larger chamber than any she'd been in so far.

The moment she put one foot inside, sconces all around her lit themselves, bringing the giant horror before her into immediate visibility.

She shrieked in enormous surprise, but knew that it was dead and had been since Harry killed it in their second year. Still, the sheer enormity of the Basilisk was almost overpowering. Her respect for Harry rose several notches knowing that her friend had faced the creature alive. She had faced it once, true, but only long enough to get petrified. When she next awoke, the whole situation had been resolved. Harry had actually fought it and won.

Carefully, she circled the massive corpse, and all of a sudden she realised that she could see her breath as she exhaled. It was freezing down there; no doubt the temperature had helped preserve the body. Cautiously, she inspected the head.

It had been blinded, naturally. She wasn't in any danger of that sort now.

Well, she thought, if they did find a Horcrux down there and tried to destroy it, a nice big fang full of Basilisk venom might be just the thing.

Swallowing hard, she sat on her knees and steeled herself.

"Here goes," she said.

The snake's skin, when she touched it, was cold and covered in what felt like very wet moss. She didn't take the time to discover precisely what it was, as it wasn't important and the knowledge would probably only serve to disgust her, and she didn't want to be distracted. She had to try to extract a Basilisk fang, careful not to come into contact with the deadly tip of it.

Heaving the jaw open as wide as she could make it, she froze the beast's head in place so it wouldn't snap and fall down on her while she made the attempt.

With several hard tugs and a few severing charms, it finally came free; nothing gushed or oozed from it. It had been dead too long.

She checked to make sure there was still venom in it and then put it safely away so that she couldn't accidentally hurt herself on it.

That was when the silvery deer appeared.

Hermione immediately started after it. The time had come. Harry had found something or needed help.

It was only after she had been chasing after the Patronus that she realised it wasn't Harry's stag at all, but a female. A doe.

Hermione stopped short, uncertain whether she wanted to follow a strange Patronus, but then it flickered out. She could hear Harry and Ron in the distance, their rapid conversation blurred to unintelligibility by distance and echo.

"Harry!" she called.

"Hermione, help!" cried Ron.

When she got close enough to see, she found Harry, seemingly inert on the ground in the arms of a terrified looking Ron.

"He just keeled over. He was closer to it than I was, so I didn't get hit with whatever shot out of it, but it got Harry and he won't wake up!"

Her eyes quickly scanned the scene, her logical mind taking over. A lovely, though slightly glowing, diadem and an unconscious Harry. A strange wave of light connected Harry to the diadem and also to something else. Something invisible. Did Professor Snape lay unconscious as well? Hidden by the invisibility cloak?

One thing was for certain- that Horcrux had to be destroyed if there was any hope for either of them. Automatically, she withdrew the fang and, falling to her knees, she began stabbing at it, trying to break pieces off without actually touching the thing herself. She didn't know if it was the magic from the Horcrux, exertion or plain terror, but her heart was beating so rapidly in her chest that it felt like a powerful hum.

She knew she'd succeeded when a flash of white light blinded her and a powerful force knocked her onto her back.

"Done," she thought, then passed out.

.

SS

.

Severus felt as if he had one hellish hangover when he sat up. His head pounded and his body seemed oddly overweight as he tried to push himself off the stone floor. He remembered everything up till the point that foolish boy had touched the diadem.

"Harry, you're awake!" Severus heard Weasley say, his voice breaking, though more likely with relief than puberty. Severus blinked a few more times until the boys' outlines focused. "You have to help me get 'Mione to the Hospital Wing."

Potter seemed to become more alert, though his hand still remained over his scar as if it pained him. "Hermione? What happened? When did she get here?"

"Dunno. She showed up just after you went for it, mate. Then you passed out; I think you were somehow ensorcelled by the Horcrux. Anyway, the minute she saw you, she destroyed it. There was a bit of a blast, but we both came to and she hasn't!"

The boys crawled over to where Granger lay crumpled on the ground. As quietly as he could, Severus rose to his hands and knees, then to his feet, and followed. He was getting too old for this, he thought, as his joints popped and squeaked in protest.

"'Mione! 'Mione!" said Weasley, gently shaking the girl. Potter lightly slapped her face, to no avail.

Severus sighed (silently, of course) at the stupidity of both boys. The two of them combined didn't have the sense of one Miss Granger. Had she been able, she would have no doubt suggested that they use a simple _Enervate_.

Pointing his wand through a tiny gap in the cloak, Severus cast the spell silently and the girl instantly started to rouse.

"You're awake!" she said happily, when her eyes finally opened.

"That's my line," Potter quipped, pulling her into a sitting position. "You all right?"

"Never better." The trio smiled at one another and then as one, they all turned to look at the destroyed diadem. Silence fell around them as Potter reached out and put one arm around Granger and another around Weasley. It was a while before anyone spoke.

"Another one down," said Potter. "How did you do it, Hermione? We didn't have the sword."

Granger pointed at an ivory coloured object lying a yard or two away. "Basilisk fang. Quite handy I happened to find one lying about," she remarked.

"Handy indeed," said Potter, mirroring Severus' own thoughts.

"I don't know if I ever told you how proud I am of you for facing that thing, Harry. It was frightening enough blind and dead. I can't imagine what it must have been like to fight it while it was alive and trying to kill you."

"Yeah, well..." Potter rumpled his hair, something that particularly irritated Severus. "I had a lot of help that time, too."

"Don't know about you two, but seeing as we are all alive and accounted for, I'd just as soon do this in the comfort of the common room," said Weasley.

Granger's lips pursed in concern. "All alive and accounted for," she repeated with a frown. It was half a question.

Her head swivelled around, looking vainly for something she knew she couldn't see.

Knowing she was referring to him, Severus tapped the sitting girl with his boot. Not a kick, just a little nudge.

Granger gasped.

"What?" the two boys asked simultaneously.

"Nothing," she covered hastily. "Just a chill. I'm feeling a bit rattled after everything, that's all."

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, her friends doing the same. She strode over to the fang and picked it up. "Easier than carrying around that great big sword," she pointed out, before safely stowing it away. She extended both hands out to her two friends, who took hold and pulled themselves up.

"To Dumbledore, then?" said Potter.

Weasley nodded. "Let's get out of here. This place is right spooky."

As a group, they trudged back to the entrance of the chamber with Granger, he noticed, taking special care to walk behind the boys so that any footsteps they heard coming from behind them would be assumed to be hers. Severus had to admit her intelligence might not, as he had previously told the headmaster, be restricted to repeating verbatim what she'd read in textbooks. Granger could scheme, albeit good-naturedly, as well as many of his Slytherin charges.

"Where's Fawkes when you need him?" snorted Potter as he began ascending the tunnel, his feet slowly walking up the side of the passage as hand moved over hand up the rope they had left for that very purpose.

.

HG

.

"You go first," she said to Ron, handing the rope to him.

"No, it's all right, Hermione, you go."

"Please, Ron," she said, beginning to flush at having no decent excuse to let him go before her. Snape had to climb up, too, and she couldn't have Ron last and feel the rope taut with an invisible weight below him. He'd catch on that someone or something else was there. "I'm... I'm wearing a skirt," she pointed out.

Ron blushed too. "Oh. All right," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his now crimson neck.

She began to flush, too, as she realised that she _was_ wearing a skirt and someone would still be beneath her, looking up.

For a wild moment, she wished Ron _were_ behind her- better him than Snape- but there was nothing to be done about that now. She'd just have to soldier on, trust in Snape's sense of propriety and simply hope that she'd be able to meet his eyes after all this was over.

After Ron had climbed up a few feet, she began the attempt as well, grabbing hold and trying to walk up the wall using the rope.

A swish, an odd flurry of movement about her skirt, a constricting about her legs and Hermione realised that Professor Snape had transfigured her skirt into a pair of bloomer-like trousers.

She was a witch, she should have thought of that. Though she was surprised at Snape's thoughtfulness. Or perhaps he was just as horrified by the idea as she had been. In any case, she was feeling much more at ease as she made her way out of the Chamber.

Hermione's arms began to sting and tire not even halfway up the passage. The boys weren't complaining, though, so she didn't want to either. She couldn't help but think that despite her dislike of flying, she wished they'd left brooms at the entrance of the tunnel, rather than rope. Too late now, she thought. A broomstick would never be able to get down there, not with all the closed doors between it and them. She pushed on, ignoring the burn as best she could, but promising herself not to ignore her exercises anymore. She was sadly out of shape and hadn't even known it. What a poor time to find out.

It was during another one of those almost ninety-degree inclines that, out of breath and tired, her grip failed her and she slid, terrifyingly, down the rope.

She came to an abrupt stop much sooner than she expected, having forgotten in her panic that someone was right below her.

Snape let out almost feline yowl of displeasure but didn't lose his hold. She clung to the rope, trying to regain a purchase on it and take her weight off the poor put-upon professor.

"Mione, you alright?" called Ron from above. The boys had a steadier and faster pace than she, and by that time had gained a considerable lead.

"Fine!" she panted. In a whisper, she added, "Sorry! My hands seized up_._"

Snape's breathing was a bit laboured as well, but from age or being fallen on? Since she hadn't noticed it until then, she assumed the latter.

"Can you go on?" His voice was muffled, as if he was intentionally speaking into his sleeve to keep it quiet, but the annoyance, if nothing else, came through loud and clear all the same.

"Haven't got much of a choice," she replied, her arms still shaky from overwork.

He huffed displeasure and shifted beneath her so that she found herself (as far as she could tell) sitting on him, one leg draped over each shoulder.

"Catch your breath for a minute," he said, in that same quietly muffled tone.

She felt like she could have rested longer, but she was acutely aware that she was _sitting_ on her Potions teacher, and physical discomfort soon gave way to social discomfort and she pressed on.

Both Ron and Harry reached out to pull her out of the tunnel when she finally reached the girl's bathroom again and (after hastily and secretly changing her skirt back) Hermione wasted no time in insisting they leave immediately for the Headmaster's office.

Snape could do whatever he wanted. Truth be told, she wasn't looking forward to seeing the Potions Master any time soon. Something told her she could expect a severe tongue-lashing during their next meeting. She wasn't sure why, but she felt certain that Professor Snape would be furious about something. One of the many things that had gone wrong, one of the many ways she hadn't abided by his original plan.

She kept silent mostly, letting Harry relate to the Headmaster all that had happened. This was the man who was sacrificing Harry and keeping him in the dark. But that was why she was working with Snape. Together, they would protect Harry.

"Sherbet lemon, Miss Granger? You seem out of sorts," offered Dumbledore.

She shook herself. "No, thank you." She suspected those sweets of his were laced with something. "Just fatigued from the night's adventure."

That was true enough. She _was_ exhausted, and for the first time as far as she could recall, she dreaded having to go to class in the morning.

They filed out of the Headmaster's office and didn't speak to each other as they made their way back to the tower. The reality that they truly had destroyed another Horcrux, that they were that much closer to their goal, caused them all to be lost in their own thoughts.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" came a low voice in a mixture of pleasure and annoyance. "A trio of rule-breakers, I see. Out after curfew."

Harry and Ron were scowling at their hated Potions teacher. She could only stare.

"Up to no good, no doubt," he continued in that self-satisfied drawl. Hermione noticed it didn't contain any of the usual anger when they were caught doing something wrong. That was because he knew that they_ hadn't_ been doing anything wrong. He was well aware that they'd just been to see the Headmaster.

Suddenly, the flash of memory of sitting on his shoulders caused her to flush and look away.

"Let's make it fifty points from Gryffindor."

"But Professor!" both Harry and Ron began.

"_Each._ And fifty more for every word to come out of your mouths other than '_yes, sir_.'"

Now Hermione wasn't the only one flushed. The boys also grew red with anger, but neither said anything.

Snape smirked. "Good," he remarked, pleased. "Now get back to your dormitories or you can count on a week of detention as well."

That had been wholly unfair! He knew they were out and without the cloak, and he used it as an excuse to take points from Gryffindor just because he could.

What a horrid, _horrid_ man!


	7. Blasted Bay Leaf

**Chapter 7: Blasted Bay Leaf **

.

SS

.

Severus continued to stare into the fire, even after the beautiful face within it had disappeared and the flames had turned from green back to orange.

Tea with Narcissa? The woman had clearly been upset, what could she want? Probably to talk about Draco. She must be worried about her son failing in/at his mission to kill the Headmaster. Little did she know that he was already destined to fail, as Severus had been appointed by Dumbledore himself to make sure the boy didn't succeed. Not by protecting the Headmaster from the attack, though. By him promise to do it first. Brilliant plan... if you were a madman. Albus Dumbledore fell decidedly into that category. Genius, but most certainly mad. Who was madder, though? The Headmaster, or the stooge who obeyed the madman's every command?

Actually, the stooge who obeyed _two_ madmen's every command.

Dwelling on these unnerving thoughts did nothing for his peace of mind, so Severus left his office in a flurry of robes, deciding to pace the halls until breakfast.

.

HG

.

If Hermione thought Professor Snape had been unfair before about taking points after the Chamber incident, he'd grown even worse in the days that followed. She'd been growing impatient with the man. She had many new ideas she wanted to run by him, see if he thought they were applicable and perhaps try them out, but the only acknowledgement she received from him was increased acrimony.

That lesson as they were attempting to brew the potion he'd set for them, Hermione raised her hand, not waiting for him to call on her before she spoke. "Sir, would it be possible to add the Sophorous bean _before_ the Valerian?"

"No," was the curt reply, though he hadn't scolded her for speaking out of turn.

"But if a bit of moonstone were added..."

"No."

"May I at least try?"

"No."

"But it could be—"

"No."

"But look at the lethargy elixer. The moonstone balanced the base."

He just stared at her disapprovingly.

She met his glare evenly, refusing to be intimidated. "Well?" she said.

He continued to stare.

"Do you simply not say anything if you can't say 'no'?" she hissed.

Snape blinked.

"Argh!" Hermione growled in frustration at the Potions master's childish, yes, childish, antics and went back to work, her question unanswered.

"Just likes irritating me!" she accused under her breath.

"Yes," he deadpanned. Shocked, she looked up. She hadn't thought he would hear her but by his expression he clearly had. Had she not been desperately furious, she might have noticed the amused glint in his eye. So much the better, it probably would have made her even angrier. Instead, she went back to work with a fury, pointedly ignoring her professor, much to the older man's (naturally _unexpressed_) amusement.

Despite everything, she decided to try it her way. She decided that if he was so insistent on taking points from her, she might as well get something out of it. Adding the moonstone, sliver by sliver, she carefully built her base. It seemed stable enough, so she proceeded with her plan of adding the Sophorous bean first. Her excitement grew as the potion progressed as she'd hoped, and what was more, she didn't need to let it simmer for as long as everyone else, so she'd be finished first. Hopefully, the slightly gaseous side effect would be eliminated by the bean being boiled longer and at a lower temperature.

"No, Neville!" she cried in a whisper when she turned her head for her periodic check on him. She just barely managed to stop him from making yet another disastrous mistake. The moment she turned around to her own cauldron, however, she found its entire contents turned into brown sludge, hardening rapidly into a solid mass of utter uselessness.

"Looks like it didn't work, did it, Miss Granger?" a voice sneered from behind her. "That will be thirty points from Gryffindor and detention, I think, for arguing and disobedience. And another ten for helping Longbottom."

She didn't look at him; she was too busy gaping at her travesty of a brew and the cause of its ruin... a single bay leaf. A bay leaf she most certainly _hadn't_ put there.

.

She waited until after he'd said his piece before she exploded. He informed her that they would be working on the Horcrux potion that evening, and then excused her to lunch. If he thought he could calmly stand there after having deducted points and ruining her potion and act as if nothing happened, he was sorely mistaken.

"Now wait just one minute!" she cried. "You added that bay leaf!"

"Of course," he admitted without remorse.

"You can't ruin a potion and my marks and my record and give me a detention any and every time you want to work! You have to come up with a better method."

"I'm quite content with the current method. If you don't like it, then you think of something."

She glared at him but said "Fine," all the same in the primmest tone she could muster.

Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a purse. From the purse, she removed two silver sickles. Since she had done it before with over thirty separate coins, doing just the pair was quick and easy work.

"Protean charm," she explained, flicking her wand for the final touches. "It's the same way we scheduled meetings for the DA." She flinched then, thinking too late that she probably shouldn't have said that. Snape, however, didn't seem to care, or wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the coin interestedly.

"What gave you the idea?" he asked, taking a finished coin from her hand and inspecting it.

Hermione swallowed thickly, and didn't quite manage to stop herself from sneaking a glance at her professor's left forearm where she knew the Dark Mark lay.

"I thought so." His voice was approving, disapproving, and weary all at once.

SS

Later that evening, before they had even begun their discussion, the witch insisted that he change her marks for the day's lesson and return the points to her house but he pointedly refused. It would be obvious that the detention was a sham and it simply went against his nature to give Gryffindor points. She wailed over her marks and wouldn't shut up until he agreed to give her a chance to brew it again later. Insufferable chit. Still concerned about her marks when more important things were afoot.

"Perhaps now that the more important business of your marks is taken care of you might turn your attention to the _little_ matter of dislodging the fragment of the Dark Lord's soul from your Mr. Potter."

HG

"No!" he shouted a gruelling three and a half hours later, throwing his quill at her, staining her blouse with ink. They'd been at it all evening. She'd been poring through text after text, pointing out precedents and examples from previous potions. The professor shot down each and every one and it seemed that the latest failed idea had been the last straw. "Think harder! More importantly, think for yourself! Stop regurgitating what you've read and use that praised logic you're supposed to have. If the answer were already written, we wouldn't be here. So stop looking in books and _think_. _For_. _Your_. _Self_... For once in your life, Granger," he snarled.

She wouldn't cry.

She took his advice to heart, though, and did nothing but think for the next few days. Of course, Hermione Granger was almost always thinking, but her level of focus this time was such that she didn't even eat at meals, merely stared at the food, unseeing, as she contemplated the problem and thoroughly avoided Snape. She refused to approach him again until she had something really good to show him, to prove herself to him.

.

There was quite a stir at the next Potions class. Apparently in the lesson before, a third year had exploded his cauldron of swelling solution, splattering several of his classmates. Many of them were sent directly to Madam Pomfrey as their heads grew so large their necks could no longer support them, and had to have friends carry their swollen parts. It was said that one poor student got it right in the eye, and that growing orb had swelled so much that it popped right out of the socket, to the horror of everyone around her.

This wouldn't be cause for mirth, and the class wouldn't have been snickering had it not been for the rumour that Snape was also a victim of the accident. The swelling solution had, rather fittingly, hit his nose. The already not inconsiderable appendage had swelled to comical proportions, making a caricature of their professor.

"The last of the antidote was used by the Hospital Wing on the more serious cases, so everyone else's got to wait for a fresh batch to be brewed," said Seamus, hurrying down the corridor to see the sight for himself. It was the first time that people had rushed _to_ a Potions class and not from it.

Hermione, however, didn't once look up from her notes. She was ignoring Snape for the time being, and that included gossip about him too. Even when she entered the classroom, she did not, as the rest of her classmates did, gawk at Snape. She kept her head down. Seamus, desperate for her to see, whispered, "Fockin'ell, Hermione. Look at the nose on'im!"

A wicked idea occurred to her and she slowly lifted her head to inspect the professor. It was true, his nose was gargantuan. She could put a fist in each nostril if so inclined, which she most certainly wasn't. Snape was glaring them all down, especially Seamus and Hermione. The class quietened, Snape's dangerous expression daring anyone to say something.

Hermione accepted that dare.

She regarded him unconcernedly, and meeting his angry stare she remarked coolly, "_I see no difference_," and returned to the business of setting up her desk for the day's lesson. Gasps and titters went up all around, and Hermione did her best not to smirk in triumph. Even if they didn't remember Draco Malfoy's _densaugeo _charm from fourth year or Snape's reaction to it, Hermione's comment was still an excellent blow. For those who did remember, it was doubly scathing. They were hard pressed to stifle their snickers, and most failed in their attempts.

Snape was ruthless in taking points that day. For once it didn't matter if the student were Slytherin or Gryffindor, anyone who so much as exhaled loudly got a minimum ten point loss. Somehow the nose, rather than being comical, made him seem even more menacing and frightening, especially when he flared his nostrils, making it seem as if he'd suck you in.

Hermione started feeling guilty almost immediately, however, for adding to his teasing, but there was a part of her, the buck-toothed fourth year, that needed that bit of revenge. What was more, she reasoned, she _couldn't_ defend him, lest people think they were more acquainted than they should be.

_That's untrue and you know it_, she chided herself. She'd been defending Snape her entire Hogwarts life. It wouldn't have been out of character at all to dress her classmates down for disrespecting their teacher. In fact, it's what the Head Girl _ought_ to do in that situation. No, she was sad to admit, her reaction had been entirely selfish and vengeful.

People teased Professor Snape all the time; he didn't need any more from her. And when students insulted him, they at least had the sense to do it behind his back, and not to his face with several others watching.

She had been expecting detention, or points loss at the very least, but he ignored her the entire time, didn't even glance at her when class ended.

As they all went down to lunch, the rest of the class for the first time in her memory, crowded around her, praising her nerve. It felt good, all the approval and attention from her classmates, but it didn't feel nearly good enough to cancel out her guilt.

"Brilliant, Hermione!" cried Dean.

"You fair got him back fer fourt' year, like!" agreed Seamus.

Ron slung an arm around her. "And not a point gone from Gryffindor." Quietly, he whispered into her hair, "Always knew you were brilliant, Mione."

While it was hardly the nicest compliment she'd ever been paid, she flushed and looked down at her feet, a curious sensation burbling in her stomach.

"I shouldn't've done it," she said quietly, still looking down as the castle floor passed under her feet.

"The git deserved it, after what he said to you in fourth year. Poetic justice, I say."

"Hermione," Harry began uncertainly as they sat down to their meal at Gryffindor table. "You aren't planning to do something stupid, like apologise to Snape, are you?"

She sighed. "No, I suppose I won't." Her natural impulse _was_, as Harry well knew, to apologise, but with the Potions master, saying sorry might only make the situation worse.

An idea suddenly occurred to her that frightened her to her very core. Was Snape resentful enough to refuse to help her after today's lesson? After all, he'd stopped teaching Harry Occlumency after something unpleasant occurred. Though Harry hadn't told her exactly what happened, she assumed he'd insulted the professor in some way. Had she ruined everything with one thoughtless comment? Was Snape that bitter?

Yes, she decided. Snape was the most implacably resentful man she'd ever known. The potion was in his lab, he had all the ingredients. Presupposing that she _could_ carry on without him, she didn't have the supplies, and couldn't afford to buy new ones and start all over. Why couldn't she have just respected her teacher? Respected the man who had agreed to help her try to save her best friend's life, a boy whom, by all indications, he loathed. Was that any way to repay his consideration? For consideration it had most certainly been, in retrospect.

She was still brooding and chiding herself that evening. She was leaving the library, having finished her homework and research, and heading back to Gryffindor tower when she heard a familiar (if unwelcome) voice.

"Ugly bat. Having his nose engorged did nothing for his already frightful looks," Malfoy drawled. "Though I must say it suits him. Could hardly do worse."

Hermione sputtered in disbelief. "How dare you!"

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle all turned around. "Talking to me, mudblood? I thought you'd learnt by now not to address your betters unless they address you first," he sneered.

She ignored this. "He's your own Head of House, and he actually favours you and this is how you repay him? By ridiculing and disrespecting him?" Something was clearly going on, for Malfoy to turn on his mentor, but she was too furious to solve that mystery just yet. Presently, she wanted to make the ferret twitch.

"What I say or do is none of your business, Granger. And if I was to say that Snape is as ugly as you, then I—"

For the second time in her life, she punched Malfoy full in the face, the shock of the blow reverberating painfully up past her elbow. It felt _wonderful_.

"Muggle brawling in the corridors?" came a smooth disapproving voice from the end of the corridor. Snape billowed toward them, calm, cold, and collected.

Malfoy was cradling his bloody (and hopefully broken) nose in his hands, his voice muffled and nasal. "She hit me, Professor."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "So I see." He turned to her. "Well?"

Hermione grasped desperately for a reason. "He... he... he called me mudblood, sir." That was true, at least.

"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. Miss Granger, thirty points from Gryffindor for allowing yourself to be provoked and attacking a fellow student. Back to your dormitory. Now."

She nodded and hurried on her way. Thirty points and stinging knuckles was worth it, she thought, and smirked all the way back to Gryffindor tower, where she told Harry and Ron an edited version of what happened.

The boys hooted in triumph, congratulating her on her for her swift justice.

"First Snape, then Malfoy," Ron said in smiling disbelief, as if someone had told him his birthday had come early.

"I lost thirty points though," she admitted.

"Worth it," both boys agreed at once.

Hermione smiled. "I rather thought so too," she said, raising her chin proudly.

"Watch out, Slytherin, Hermione Granger's on a rampage!" they crowed, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Harry and Ron wasted no time in relating the event to their house mates, who once again congratulated her on her performance. This time, she felt entirely guilt-free.

.

The next morning as they passed the hourglasses in the Great Hall for breakfast, Ginny pointed out that Gryffindor didn't seem to be behind in points at all. "Someone else must have made up for it," she said with a shrug.

"See that? The fates are on our side, Mione," said Ron.

"Really, Ronald, you sound like Trelawney," she clucked.

"Never heard anything nearly that optimistic from that old bird," Harry pointed out.

Hermione tilted her head, conceding the point.

.

Hermione redoubled her efforts, hoping against hope that Snape had not abandoned her or her project, though that seemed a slight hope. Even slighter was the chance he'd teach her Occlumency now. Still, she took his advice to heart and didn't look to books for the answer. Rather, she spent long moments in her head, seeming to simply 'zone out' according to Harry and Ron. She took their jokes about Trelawney-like trance with good grace but continued to try to work out her own solution to the problem.

Two days later, she was sitting in Potions class when she had a breakthrough. Finally. She blotted the ink on her page several times as she wrote down the torrent of thoughts as quickly as she could, trying to get it all without forgetting. Yes, _yes_. This might possibly work. And she hadn't got it from a book. It had been her own ingenuity.

It was only several minutes later when Professor Snape was bellowing at her that she realised she had neglected (and ruined) her potion. Luckily it hadn't melted or exploded. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for not paying attention!" he yelled, snatching her notes away from her. She almost made a noise of protest and tried to snatch them back but she stopped herself. What harm would it be for him to have them after all? It simply saved her the trouble of having to awkwardly approach him later and ask him to look them over. She felt slightly embarrassed, wishing she could have re-written them so they'd be a bit more legible.

His eyes quickly scanned the parchment before he lowered it and frowned blackly at her. "Stay after class, Ms. Granger, to discuss your detention for doing other work during lab."

"Yes, sir," she said, clearing up the now travesty of Blood Replenisher and helping Neville, for which she was once again rewarded with a tongue lashing from the Potions master.

After class, she approached his desk tentatively. She wasn't afraid of _him_, she was afraid of rejection. She was afraid that her idea was rubbish, or that even if it wasn't, he would still refuse to work with her.

"The concept has merit," he said. He was holding her notes. "Though it is not without its faults," he quickly added. "Come by this evening, we'll work on it."

"Yes, sir," she replied, enormously relieved.

"And for Merlin's sake, eat something, you foolish girl." Eat something? What a strange thing to say. She ate plenty. Well, she'd missed dinner last night, but she'd been in the library, not reading library books but working out possible formulae. And, now that she thought about it, while she'd been in the Great Hall for lunch, she'd been in one of her 'phases' and only managed a few distracted bites. Breakfast that morning... had she really only had a few swallows of tea?

She realised she'd been staring at him absently all this time. "Well? Get out," he commanded. She nodded again and left, going immediately to the kitchens. Now that she thought about it, she really was quite hungry.

SS

So, that was Granger sorted. Severus realised that he'd get very little information out of Potter if he ignored the Gryffindor girl completely. He wanted inside her mind; he wanted to know what else the boy and the Headmaster were keeping from him. Yes, she had ridiculed him, but she'd also dressed down Draco Malfoy for doing it too. Severus thought the girl must feel justified in her abuse of him, because he'd done the same to her, whereas the young Slytherin had no cause.

No cause that Granger knew of, in any case. She couldn't know that this ran deeper, into Death Eater politics. The boy thought that they were rivals for the Dark Lord's favour. '_He despises us both, boy, and hates your father even more,_' he thought. _'It's a mad scramble out of that hole. Last one out gets crucio'd.' _Both Draco and Severus had to prove themselves or suffer the displeasure of their master.

He'd deal with the boy later. Now, he was due for tea at Malfoy Manner.

O

"Severus," Narcissa greeted, looking both afraid and relieved. She took both of his hands in hers and led him to a chair.

He didn't sit.

Neither, he noticed, did Bellatrix. When he saw her he was filled with an odd mixture of feeling. One part lust, three parts utter revulsion. That's how it always was with Bella. It was no different now. She stood there in the corner of the room, with a predatory glitter in her cold black eyes, her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts into greater prominence.

Bella was the Dark Lord's pet, and simply by having her there, things were already exponentially more complicated.

He nodded to both women in greeting.

Let the games begin...

O

There. He'd done it. The Unbreakable Vow, damn her. Had Bella not been there, he wouldn't have had to do it.

He had known before that it was likely that he would have to murder the Headmaster, but he'd harboured the hope that Draco would lose his nerve and not even make the attempt, which would save Severus from having to do it. Now, however, it was his task even if the boy _did_ fail. Dumbledore's days were numbered.

_They always were,_ a voice in his head told him. _Ever since he destroyed that ring._

True, but Severus hadn't been the one at fault there. Let the curse kill the Headmaster. Bother the fact that it would be a slower, more excruciating death than the quick and painless Avada Kedavra. Severus didn't care (or told himself he didn't care) how much the Headmaster was suffering under that curse. Let him continue suffering, so long as it kept Severus from having to murder him.

But no. That wasn't an option now. Severus' lip curled. _The Headmaster will be pleased,_ he thought.

True enough, when he returned to the castle and reported to his master, Dumbledore sighed in relief. "Wonderful, Severus," he had said. "Wonderful."

Severus trudged out of the Headmaster's office, despair filling him like a chilling ache which anchored itself in his bones, his lungs, his heart.

He made his ponderous way back to his classroom, his feet were dragging and he had a headache. He wanted to eat and go to bed but knew there was no way sleep would find him now. His only solace would be in brewing something that was so time-consuming and challenging, it would leave no spare thought for anything else. Wolfsbane would do it. Remus Lupin would be needing it and it would take all night.

When he entered the room, he groaned, sensing that he wasn't alone. It was a slight consolation to see that it was only Granger, not some other bothersome student or staff member for whom he didn't have the energy to deal with. He'd forgotten he'd told her to come.

He slumped into the chair behind his desk and put his head in his hands, too tired to fling out some wounding insult and send her scurrying from the chamber.

"Not tonight, Granger. Leave," he said, not looking at her.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

_No, definitely not_. "Please," he rasped, dimly aware that it had been years since he'd used that word. "Just go."

For once, Granger obliged and quietly stole from the room, closing the door gently behind her as if she were being careful not to wake a sleeping child.

Taking several deep breaths, he took a moment (several minutes, in fact) to summon the willpower to get up and begin.

He rose heavily from his chair, groaning slighting and pinching the bridge of his nose. First thing was to get a headache reliever and Pepper-Up Potion down his throat. Despite being a consummate Potions master, Severus disliked using potions on himself, if he could help it. Sadly though, the circumstances demanded it. He needed to be in better form than he currently was in order to make the difficult brew.

As he began going over the litany of supplies he'd need, Severus felt that he'd never been so alone. The Headmaster wasn't even dead yet, but he could feel the impending loss. Once the deed was done, he truly _would_ be alone. There wouldn't be a single living soul who knew truth. Not a single one who believed in him.

And after he left Hogwarts, there would be no one who missed him. His students would be glad to see him go; the staff would be likewise relieved. For all the 'good' he was supposedly doing, he could see very little of it. Pomfrey might be displeased at having to order her medical potions from some commercial brewer, though. That was small comfort.

Then it hit him. He realised that if, no, _when_, he did kill the Headmaster and he fled the castle, no one would be able to brew the Wolfsbane. The thought of Lupin made free to monthly roam the land and maul victim after victim filled Severus with a familiar fear, not that he would ever admit to anyone that it afflicted him. It was that same rushing jolt of terror he'd experienced when he first glimpsed the werewolf at the end of the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. The image of that great beast bearing down on him was one that would forever stay with him. That vision had haunted his nightmares for years after that incident and still occasionally made an unwelcome appearance. Not that he slept much, these days.

The fact of the matter was that someone needed to know learn how to brew it for when he was no longer around. Someone who had the patience to learn it, the ability, and more importantly, someone who feared or cared enough about Lupin to go through the trouble. Severus swallowed, as a name came to mind.

He realised that while he was pacing, he'd been unconsciously rubbing the silver sickle between his thumb and forefinger. Apparently his subconscious had made the decision before he had.

HG

"Please. Just go."

For the first time, Hermione saw her Professor as a real person. Up until that evening, he'd been a brilliant but cruel professor, or the still more brilliant and crueller spy for the Order. But she felt a sting of sympathy, of pity for the man seeing how he slumped so tiredly at his desk, as if he'd just been told his father died. This was the first sign of weakness she'd ever witnessed in him, a man who was usually overwhelmingly powerful.

It was a startling realisation. Professor Snape was a person too, just as real as Harry, Ron, herself, and anyone else. Just because he never displayed emotions or weakness didn't mean he didn't have them... There was more to him than anger and brilliance. He could get disheartened and lonely just like everyone else.

Hermione made a vow on the spot to try to be more considerate. She wouldn't be as imprudent as to _act_ any differently, for she knew he wouldn't appreciate any pity, but she would try to be more understanding, rather than assume his motives for doing any seemingly cruel thing was simply because of his horrible nature. He was a double spy, the burdens upon his back must be enormous and incredibly stressful. Was it any wonder he snapped at the little things, when the larger problems were so very out of his control?

She'd been unfair in looking at him only as a means to an end, as a method of gaining what she wanted.

She gave him a weak nod, and tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind her.

Hermione had just made it back to the Fat Lady when she felt a spot on her chest grow warm. The sickle she'd put on a chain to hang around her neck, hidden by her blouse and robes, was now getting hotter.

Snape was summoning her? But she'd just left him. She fished out the silver coin, thinking that perhaps he merely sent a rescheduled time, but no, he was summoning her to him now.

"Are you going to give the password or aren't you?" the Fat Lady asked, annoyed.

"Sorry," she apologised, and turned back around and hurried towards the dungeons.

She knocked hesitantly before entering.

"Good evening, Professor," she greeted.

He grunted, as if to say '_hardly'_. She mentally kicked herself for inane pleasantries. _Of course _he wasn't having a good evening.

Immediately she noticed that the workstation was prepared for brewing, but not their own brew. Besides, it would be a time before they even got to the brewing, they had a lot to work out on paper first. Curiously, she took a step forward to inspect the ingredients laid out.

"We will be doing something different, today," he said, though she had already gathered that. She even thought she might be able to guess which potion it was.

"Wolfsbane?" she ventured, though upon seeing the last of the utensils she was almost certain that it was.

"The instincts of a know-it-all can never be suppressed," he lamented. "Yes, it is Wolfsbane, or will be, once finished. You are to pay very close attention, Miss Granger. Very. Close. Attention."

This startled her. "Will I be tested on this?" she asked, realising that this wasn't the classroom. Well, technically it_ was_ the classroom but it wasn't a Potions class and there weren't any assessments.

"Perhaps," he answered vaguely. "For now, watch and learn. If you've learned nothing before, do it now."

She was struck by the gravity in his voice, the uncharacteristically urgent appeal. "Is something wrong? Are you leaving?"

"I hope not, but one never knows, does one?"

"But even if something did happen to you, surely the Headmaster could—"

She must have said the wrong thing because Snape slammed his clenched fist down on the worktable and bellowed, "Are you going to learn this or not? Stop wasting my time and get out if you are so disinterested!"

"No!" she said at once, then quietened. "No, I'll stay. Thank you."

She watched and listened attentively as he Professor Snape explained the process, step by intricate step. She took careful notes when the brew was set to simmer, and she had a few moments to spare. It was an arduous procedure, but if she could brew Polyjuice in her second year, she could brew Wolfsbane in her seventh.

She realised the professor was speaking again but she hadn't heard what he said. Oh dear.

"What? Sorry, I didn't catch that."

x

It was almost comforting, lecturing to just one person. He knew he could tell her anything and she would listen, remember, and be able to apply it later. Though Severus wouldn't admit it, it was... agreeable... to have attentive company. Company that didn't ask anything of him; company that just listened. But even she was only there because of the war. That was the only reason anyone cared at all for him, because of the role he played. Granger had only come that evening because she needed him to save her friend, the young Potter. Dumbledore was abandoning him, but even though the wizened wizard claimed to care for Severus, mostly all the ever spoke of was the war or the school. He was still just a teacher, or a chessman.

No. Despite the company, he was still alone. He'd driven away the only person who had ever cared about him and eventually got her killed. '_Oh Lily...'_

"What? Sorry, I didn't catch that."

Severus was mortified that he'd spoken aloud. This lapse of vigilance made him irritable and so he snapped at the girl. "I thought I told you to pay attention!" he barked.

"I am! I'm sorry, Professor, it won't happen again."

He glared at her (simply because he couldn't glare at himself.) "I was saying to be sure that the water lily root is sliced diagonally, against the phloem."

They fell back into the routine after that, Severus making certain to keep his mind on the task, and engaging the girl in conversation when there was nothing to do, so he wouldn't embarrass himself again.

The talking helped keep him awake, speaking the process aloud helped him focus. In fact, having someone else there, it didn't seem as long and tedious as it used to and before he knew it, the potion was complete and it was almost dawn.

The girl, though obviously tired, was smiling broadly by the end.

"Thank you, sir, for teaching me that."

"It wasn't kindness, Granger."

"I can still appreciate it," she remarked, smiling as she stretched hugely. Severus heard several vertebrae pop. "I'm going to eat something, then go to bed," she announced, then stopped and turned around. "Unless... there's anything else I can do for you, Professor." Her voice rose questioningly, though by the way she was wringing her hands she was obviously nervous. If she _did_ ever learn Occlumency, she'd have to get rid of those obvious tells, else it would do no good.

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

"All right then. Will you be going to breakfast?"

He regarded her evenly. "Yes."

She stood there for a moment, and Severus understood that she meant for them to go up together. He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, crossing his arms. She seemed to get the message.

"Right. I'll just..." She made some ambiguous hand gesture and scuttled backwards toward the door. "Thanks again, Professor."

Again with the needless thanks. He rolled his eyes and waved her away. The door closed and he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. She better remember all that, else wizarding Britain would have another wild werewolf at large…


	8. Mostly Unscathed

**Chapter 8: **_**Mostly**_** Unscathed**

She'd gone to sleep immediately following breakfast, and rose again at noon to start on the next month's assignments after grabbing a quick bite in the kitchens. She needed to stay well ahead, in case something should come up that demanded all of her time and she couldn't do her assignments. She had, naturally, read all her texts through, but she needed to refresh her memory and write her essays. (The year before she'd come across the seventh year syllabus of sorts for several subjects from the Head Girl. The wonderful witch had written down every bit of homework she'd been assigned in the same notebook the whole academic year. Hermione had pounced on this treasure trove of information with alacrity and profuse thanks.)

It was during this long stretch in the library that she felt the sickle heat up. She didn't dare check it in public, so she removed herself to the nearest girls' toilets, fished it out from between her breasts, and regarded it eagerly. That very night. If she wanted to accomplish all she wanted before dinner she'd have to pick up the pace. She briefly considered skipping the evening meal, but remembered that Professor Snape had chided her for that before, and decided to attend after all.

"Hermione, where've you been all day? Haven't seen you at all till now," asked Ron, sitting beside her and immediately piling a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"Library." Surprisingly, this answer came from Harry.

It was usually a safe assumption, but she didn't appreciate being teased for her habits.

Harry must have seen something of her feelings in her face, for he hastily reassured her, "I wasn't making fun." He lowered his voice so that only she and Ron could hear. "When you didn't turn up at lunch, I checked the map, that's all."

"Oh," she said, feeling better.

_Oh..._ She had completely forgotten that Harry could, at any time, see the exact position of any person at any time anywhere in the castle. What could she have possibly said if he had happened to glance at the Marauder's Map at two o'clock in the morning the night before? He would have seen herself and Snape cloistered together in the dungeons for hours.

She could tell him that they had been brewing Wolfsbane, but why would Professor Snape trust her with such a task? Actually, that question behooved closer scrutiny no matter what. But how could she have explained it? Detention? That was possible, but weak. If she'd had to have spent an entire night with Professor Snape in detention, she would certainly have told the boys. Outside detention, there was no reasonable excuse she could give them, should they ever learn of it.

That left but one option. She had to 'appropriate' his father's map.

Seeing as she was to go to the dungeons after dinner, that meant she had to act quickly. She rose to her feet, her meal only half finished.

"Oi!"

"Sorry, Ron," she apologized, effusing sincerity. She had jostled his elbow and now he had a lapful of potatoes and gravy. She quickly Vanished the mess from his lap.

"Back to work?" Harry inquired.

She was glad he had posed the question that way. "Yes. Don't wait up."

If Harry was carrying the map on him, then she was in a bit of a spot She returned to Gryffindor tower in the hope that it was in his dormitory. Seeing as everyone was at dinner, the common room was empty. She tiptoed (needlessly, obviously, as no one was there to hear her, but she was doing something sneaky so she did it anyway) up the boys' staircase into the dormitory of the seventh years. She quickly searched but didn't find it.

She muttered a mild swear-word under her breath. She tried a Summoning charm a bit half-heartedly, and of course, it didn't work. Summoning charms were only effective if one knew where the item specifically was.

And yet, she couldn't stand up Professor Snape either. Something told her there would be dire consequences…

She'd stay for an hour. That was long enough to get at least _some _work done, but not enough to cause too much suspicion if Harry noticed her on the map. She could tell him she had a question for the Potions master. Just in case, she'd also visit Professor Vector after that, so it seemed that she was visiting several professors. Yes, that would do. Then she could make a more concerted effort to get that map another time.

She quietly stole back down the stairs, crossing Crookshanks on her way. Automatically, she bent to scratch him behind the ears, when an idea struck her.

.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," she greeted upon entering his dungeons.

She got the barest of nods in return. "Miss Granger."

He sat rigidly at his desk, leaves of parchment scattered in a somehow organised way across the surface of his desk. What he held in his hand, however, were the notes he'd confiscated from her during class.

She knew that this would be the most difficult part. She'd presented to him an idea, but now was the time he'd pick every aspect apart, forcing her to explain every decision she'd made. She wouldn't mind doing this, of course, but it was rather like being in an oral exam that was impossible to pass. No matter what she said, he would find some fault with it. That was inevitable, as it wasn't, alas, perfect. It was merely a theory. But she knew that within a few minutes and with only a few well aimed questions, he would belittle her, and make her feel stupid.

If there was one thing Hermione Granger despised, it was feeling stupid.

She closed the door behind her and Snape immediately locked and warded the door. It was after office hours so he was free to do so, though she doubted that it would have stopped him even if it was within office hours.

"I know there are many holes in the theory, sir. You took it before it was finished," she felt the need to defend herself. Truly, the idea had only struck her on the spur of the moment. She'd barely been able to scribble a few things down before he took it away from her.

Feeling self-conscious, she procured another set of notes from her bag. More comprehensive, she hoped, not that the Professor couldn't fill in the gaps any better than she could. Still, she handed over the neater, more comprehensive copy, just so that he couldn't attack her for leaving out something obvious.

He snatched it, his eyes scanning over it quickly. His expression had fallen to unimpressed by the time he got to the end. But did that mean that if he were unimpressed in the end, that he'd been hopeful to start with? And the expression that followed, was that unimpressed, or simply disappointment?

Yes, it was surely disappointment, she decided, feeling rotten. All her life, she tried to keep from disappointing people, but here, where it really mattered, is where she failed.

"Let's start from the top. First of all, moonstone will be no good."

Her heart sank further. Of course it wouldn't work, she should have seen that, but it would be easily replaced by one with a lower pH.

"But that's easily substituted, as I'm sure you have already concluded."

Had that been... a compliment? Well, no, even her own desperate imagination couldn't stretch it that far, but he was, at least, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

She brightened at the prospect that he was treating her as a colleague to **confer** with, not a child to be corrected.

It was three quarters of an hour later when he asked her an earnest question about what she thought of the idea of using haliwinkles. He'd honestly asked her opinion, as if it mattered. She carefully thought about it for a time, not wanting to rush her answer.

"I think it's a possibility, but how are we to get any? I checked the apothecaries when I was doing my initial research and not one of them carried it."

"All Potion masters are required to be certified in Herbology."

"Sir?"

"Because they often harvest their own ingredients."

She didn't believe it. Was he suggesting...?

"You... you know where we can gather haliwinkles?"

"I know where _I_ can gather haliwinkles."

"Oh, but please, can't I come with you?"

"No."

"But I want to help-"

"Absolutely not. You'd only get in the way."

Just like that, he made her feel like an annoying child to be protected and corrected. He didn't think she could be useful, or at least, stay out of his way. Granted, he'd probably been collecting ingredients for longer than she'd been alive, he didn't likely _need_ help but she would at least like to see how it was done. And, if she were being honest with herself, she wanted to be with him so he wouldn't have to be alone. This was _their_ project; they should do it _together_.

She didn't see that reason going over well with the Potions master, though.

"All right sir," she said resignedly. She didn't like it, but it wasn't as if she had any other option, really. Checking her watch, she realised that her time there was nearing the hour mark, and she couldn't stay.

"I have to go, sir," she said, grabbing her bag from off the floor and slinging it over her shoulder.

He looked at her sceptically. "You have some other engagement that is more important than this?" he asked jeeringly, holding her notes up.

"No, I don't. But I can't stay here."

"I deny you something you want and you start pouting and want to quit?" The venom was veritably dripping from his words. There stood the true Head of Slytherin, no doubt.

"Sir, you've been denying me what I want since my first year, and it's never stopped me before. You've shouted far worse things at me than simply saying I can't go harvesting with you. I'm not that petty. I really do have to go, though."

His lips thinned into an almost imperceptible line, but he didn't respond.

She lifted the wards (only able to do so because she'd seen him erect them in the first place) and unlocked the door.

When she opened it, Crookshanks burst into the room, holding in his mouth a rather thick bundle of folded up parchment.

"You did it!" she cried happily at her familiar. She shut the door quickly and hurried down to him, relieving him of his load. She gave him a rather thorough scratching in congratulations and reward for his wonderful work.

She had been reminded that Crooks had stolen the passwords into Gryffindor tower for Sirius, when he wanted in, so it occurred to her that perhaps he could nick the map from Harry.

"What a clever, clever puss you are," she cooed.

Crookshanks rolled around on his back, presenting his belly for her petting, writhing about in feline ecstasy.

Snape cleared his throat and both she and the cat twitched, bringing their heads quickly up to face him at the same time. To an outside observer, it might have been humorous to see the similarities, but none present derived any amusement from it.

She stood awkwardly, clearing her throat. "I, er... It appears that I don't have to go after all," she said, trying not to squirm under his intense stare.

She tried to hide the map in her pocket, but before she could, Snape had crossed the distance in three long, powerful strides and snatched it away from her.

"No!" she cried, grasping desperately to reclaim it. He held it out of her reach. He was quite tall, even for a man.

He opened it up, inspecting it. She thought she saw angry recognition in his face, but couldn't be sure.

"What is this, Miss Granger?" he asked, his tone deceptively even.

"Spare bit of parchment?" she replied, cursing herself for the rise in her voice that made it sound like a question. He'd never believe her now. She really needed to work on her lying skills. She'd had some fine ones in the past, but when put directly on the spot by _him_ she found herself unable to say _anything_ sensible, let alone tell a convincing lie to a master double spy.

He walked over to a cauldron which had been left to simmer overnight. He put the corner of the Marauder's Map near the flames beneath and asked again. "What. Is. It?"

Panicked and horrified that he might burn the map, she withdrew her wand and tried to summon it, but Snape's grip on it was too sure. She saw the force of her spell tug gently on it, but it wasn't powerful enough to take it from him.

The only thing it accomplished was to irritate the man further.

Harry wouldn't soon forgive her if she got his father's map burned, even if she did blame it on Snape.

"A map," she replied, both panicked and resigned at the same time. Her voice shook slightly. "Please, sir, don't burn it."

He removed the map from its close proximity to the flames and stepped towards her, face still an angry mask of barely suppressed fury.

"Show me."

'_Forgive me, Harry, Ron, Fred, George,_' she pleaded in her mind. Short of joining Voldemort's ranks, showing Professor Snape the secret of the Marauder's Map was the ultimate betrayal.

She flicked her wand, which made the Potions master flinch. Hermione glared at him; as if she'd actually curse him.

Well, she had cursed him before a time or two, but that was different.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and tapped the map with her wand. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

She peeked through squinting eyes open and saw the ink begin to spread across the parchment. Hogwarts unfolded before them, as did the movements of each and every student and staff member.

"This is why I couldn't stay here, sir," she said, folding it open to the dungeons and pointing to both her and Snape's names, side by side. "They used the map to check on me this afternoon when I didn't turn up for lunch. I... I was worried that they might see me here one evening."

"How did you expect to get any work done if your time was constrained to an hour?"

"Just for tonight," she said. "Until I could get the map. But Crooks did it for me."

She smiled down at her feline, who chose that moment to wind around her ankles in a complacent figure eight, purring loudly.

"Your cat stole Potter's map for you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well, because I asked him to. Crooks is part Kneazle, you see," she explained. "So he's quite clever."

She didn't think it would help her case to mention that Crooks had done even more to help Sirius Black. She somehow doubted that Snape would be impressed.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Still holding the parchment, he walked back to his desk, flicking his wand toward the door again, locking and warding it. She let him inspect the map for a while before meekly asking, "Erm... can I have it back, please?"

His head rose, locks of stringy black hair falling across his face as it broke out into an ugly smirk.

"That's a no, then," she said wretchedly. How could she explain that to Harry?

"How do you change it back to blank?"

She gave him a hurt look, which had no effect whatsoever. It was useless to try to move the man to pity. "Mischief Managed," she pouted.

Snape tried it and of course, the map obligingly hid itself. He then said the password to reveal the map, and once again, the map obliged.

"Are we going to keep working? Or shall I leave you to play with your new ill-gotten toy?" she asked, rather petulantly, she had to admit.

He was too smug, too pleased to be offended. A rare case, as the Potions master had the pride of a Hippogriff, one insult and he was out for blood.

He left the map open on his desk and folded his hands, entwining his fingers, mocking prayer.

"I think, perhaps, that we should start your long neglected Occlumency lessons."

Hermione brightened, but instantly grew suspicious. She hadn't wanted to annoy the Potions teacher by pestering him about giving her lessons, but now that he'd brought it up, she couldn't help but wonder why he was choosing to do it only now.

He seemed to notice. "The sooner Potter learns, the better," he commented.

"Then why haven't we already started?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

He glowered at her. Hermione was both appalled and proud of herself for being able to so easily talk back to the man who had once terrified her. Perhaps her new perception of him as a real human being had something to do with it.

He didn't answer, most likely because he didn't have a legitimate excuse or snarky rejoinder, so he reverted to the tried and true Snape glare, which Hermione was beginning to find endearing. One way to certainly annoy him was to let him _know_ she found it endearing. She didn't dare. Not because she was afraid to annoy him, but because she was embarrassed to admit it, to anyone, let alone the man himself. Her friends had always told her she was a bit mad, not until now did she finally see where they were coming from.

Then she remembered that Snape had stolen Harry's map, and the feeling quickly evaporated.

"Fine, let's get started then, shall we?" she said bossily.

.

"I wondered, sir, if you might allow me the use of a pensieve." There were memories she didn't want him to see.

"Having the possibility of your memories being perused is the incentive to close your mind, Miss Granger," he pointed out.

"But this is my first attempt. Not even I can be expected to be successful the first time around, no matter what the incentive. Perhaps after a few weeks."

He gave her a calculating look. "Very well," he relented, and bent down to remove one from inside his desk.

"And I'd also like you to promise not to punish me, Harry, or Ron for any past years' infractions."

He smirked. "If there is something of particular importance you don't wish me to see, Miss Granger, you may place it in the pensieve."

Knowing that he hadn't allowed Harry to hide memories away in a pensieve both flattered her for the consideration, and angered her on Harry's behalf.

SS

Severus watched as the girl removed memories. Many of them. In fact, it took almost ten minutes for her to extract them all.

"Finished?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. I want you to take a few minutes to clear your mind. Absolutely cleared of any and all thoughts and memories."

"That will be difficult."

"If it were simple, everyone would be an Occlumens."

"Right." The girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if trying to forcibly shove out the thoughts from her head.

"Relax, Granger. You look constipated. The mind isn't a blocked passage to be cleared away by force." She blushed at the homely metaphor. "Just relax. Release your thoughts. Let them go somewhere else. They are not yours anymore."

Her face cleared and she took a deep breath.

"Now open your eyes."

As if waking from a dream, she did so, the expression he saw there was nondescript, empty, even.

"_Legilimens!_" Severus caught a glimpse of their conversation only a few minutes ago before she passed out.

He smirked triumphantly. _Everyone_ passed out on their first attempt at Occlumency. The conceited twit probably thought she wouldn't. He charmed her to stay unconscious until he Enervated her and pulled the pensieve to him.

"Now, let's find out what Miss Granger doesn't want me to see."

Of course he'd allowed her to use the pensieve. It was the quickest and easiest way to find the exact memories she wanted to hide. Why bother going to all the trouble of searching through that busy and chaotic mind of hers when she would so neatly and simply hand over to him all the memories he'd want without a fuss?

Unrepentantly, he leant forward over the tureen until the tip of his nose came into contact with the swirling hoary substance.

Apart from one interlude involving a Bulgarian quidditch player, every single memory was about him. Scenes of her friends, classmates, even fellow Order members denouncing, insulting, and questioning him. They talked of how they disliked him, distrusted him. A good few were of Weasley and Potter taking turns insulting him. They all started out the same way.

'_Professor_ Snape, Ron,' or '_Professor _Snape, Harry,' she'd correct them.

He was disappointed.

Severus admitted that he thought the memories she'd wish to conceal would be silly things, trysts with boys, or misdeeds for which they had not yet been punished. Also, he had expected to find (the reason for his invasion of her privacy like this) what she, Weasley, and Potter, might be foolishly planning without the Order's knowledge. Something dangerous and foolhardy. Or something that might help him in his struggle against the Dark Lord.

But he saw none of that.

He watched each scene with detached interest. _This _was what she didn't want him to see? This was all that she would hide from him? She wanted to spare his feelings? He snorted at the idea. She was less clever than she thought if she assumed he didn't know how hated he was.

So childish of her, to be concerned for his feelings.

After another moment and a pang of something he couldn't quite identify, he realised it was the first time that anyone ever had. Apart from _her_. The other _her_. Lily. She had cared too, up to a point. Up to _the_ point. Up to the point where his life both came crashing down around him and spun wildly out of control all at one, ill-thought word.

In the memory he was currently experiencing, the Granger girl, along with her faithful entourage, were using some eavesdropping device (it appeared to be an ear tied to a piece of string) to listen in on a conversation between Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Minerva.

Surprisingly, it was Lupin, not Minerva, who defended him, while the other three remained sceptical, and at times, outright accusatory.

No doubt this is what Albus wanted. Clearly the Order didn't trust him, which would mean after... (Severus hated to even think it) after he killed the Headmaster, the Order would turn from him, and his position among the Death Eaters would be exalted and secured. Exactly as Albus wanted.

Others not trusting him would only make things easier, in the end.

Still, he couldn't help but think how sadly perverse it was that those who should trust him wouldn't, those who shouldn't did, and he was going to murder the only man who knew the actual truth.

HG

"Sit up, Miss Granger. Have something to drink."

Hermione almost didn't recognise the voice for its gentleness.

"Professor?" she asked, blinking her eyes as the office came slowly back into focus. Unsympathetic but steady hands helped her to sit up.

He helped her into a chair, in front of which was a tea service.

'_So I didn't imagine it_,' she thought. She reached out and lifted a cup from the tray, giving it a sniff before sipping it. She didn't suspect Snape would actually slip something into her drink, but it was habit by now. She forwent the usual tapping of the cup with her wand, to test for untraceable additives.

"I suppose I managed to really hash things up," she said, regretful that her first time had gone so obviously wrong.

"Everyone passes out the first time, Miss Granger. It's the mind's way of stopping the intrusion. It can't force the presence out, so it simply blacks out. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it only happens in the beginning. You won't be able to depend on going unconscious to save you every time someone enters your mind."

Hermione nodded, still disappointed in herself but determined to continue in a better way than she'd started. A rather poor showing for the girl meant to be the cleverest witch of her age.

"Are you ready for another try?"

Again, she was almost wrong-footed by the kindness in his voice. Actually, it wasn't kindness at all, but simply a lack of his usual spite but the difference was startling all the same. She thought if the professor was ever _actually_ nice, she might faint dead away.

A positively gruelling two hours later, Hermione had an unremitting headache so intense she could barely keep her eyes open. For while it wasn't at all that bright in the Potion master's office, the little light there was seemed to target her maliciously.

"All right," she said, squinting at Snape. "I'm ready."

"Ready to fall over, it would seem."

She shook her head to negate this, and felt her brain jostling about in her head, intensifying the headache. She had to put a hand up to her cranium to steady it.

"Before you go to bed this and every night, you are to clear your mind. Do not take any potions that tamper with your natural sleep. You may go."

She wanted to ask many questions, mainly about how she did and what more she could do, but instead she rose from her chair and trudged out of the room. She'd made it as far as the classroom before she remembered she'd left her bag behind and she groaned slightly. The seven steps back to his office looked like kilometres. She shuffled back anyway, and knocked. When the door opened, her bag was shoved into her arms.

She thanked him sleepily and turned back around again.

She was passing by his desk when she saw it. The Marauder's Map. He'd left it on his desk.

Well, it wasn't _his,_ after all; he couldn't get angry with her for taking it…

Correction. He had no _right _to be angry. He most certainly _could_ and very likely _would_ get very angry indeed. Fortunately, she wouldn't be there when he found it gone.

"Where have you been?"

"Talons," she told the fat lady, not answering her question.

Grudgingly, the portrait swung open for her. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, coming in after midnight!"

_After midnight?_ It was much later than she imagined. She must have lost track of time. She thought they'd only been practicing for two hours, but it seemed closer to three and a half. No wonder she was so exhausted.

Crooks was curled up on her bed, not at the foot or on the side but in the very middle. She couldn't get in it without disturbing him. Still, she was so pleased with her feline, she couldn't bear to move him, so she curled up on the very edge and tried to get comfortable.

She thought about Harry and the map. If he noticed it went missing, then she could tell him she had taken it. Hopefully it would be a while before he wanted to look at it, though. The longer he was unaware, the better.

'_Puh_,' she thought disgustedly. '_That's probably what the Headmaster kept telling himself. The longer Harry is unaware, the better.'_

And with that embittered thought, she fell asleep.

.

She was awakened the next morning, by a very put-out looking Lavender Brown.

"Won—er… Ron wants you in the common room," she spat.

While there wasn't anything romantic between her and Ron… (_yet,_ her mind couldn't help but add hopefully) she still took some small catty satisfaction in Lavender's jealousy. Lavender was prettier than she was, and more popular with boys, so it was a rare chance to feel more desirable, even if the truth of it turned out to be that he wanted her to go over his Transfiguration essay.

"Hey, Mione," Ron greeted her, with forced casualness, she thought she detected.

"Good morning, Ron. Where's Harry?"

"He'll be down in a bit. We thought it'd be nice to take a stroll around the lake."

"What, in this weather?" she asked. It was nearing mid-February and icy winds were howling outside.

Ron scowled at her. "Yeah," he said, his speech stilted, accenting every word. "Thought it would be good to get out, just the three of us. You, Harry and me." He was gritting his teeth in a way that made it obvious to anyone who was paying attention that there was something else going on. Luckily, at this time of the morning, no one seemed to be paying any heed. Well, clearly they had something they wanted to talk about, so of course she'd go along.

"Oh. Yes, that does sound nice. Let me just pop upstairs and put on something warm."

When she returned to the common room, Harry was there as well, prepared for cold weather. "All set then?" he asked, also with false cheer.

Hermione was beginning to feel apprehensive; something bad was coming, she could feel it.

"All right, what is this about?" she asked, her teeth chattering despite the warming charm she'd put on her cloak and scarf. They were walking around the lake, as Ron had suggested.

"Harry and I were talking last night and…" Ron looked to Harry, who shook his head.

"You tell it."

Ron's face scrunched up slightly, almost in apology to Harry. "Right. Well, Harry visited the Dumbledore again last night, you know, to look at memories and, well… someone Flooed while he was there and when Dumbledore went to the fireplace, Harry.. erm… might have seen a memory he wasn't supposed to have seen."

"What was it?" she asked impatiently, wanting him to get to the point.

"We think the Headmaster's dying. I mean, we've all seen his hand, that has to be really dark magic, right?" said Ron, looking back to Harry for confirmation. "Who knows what he had to do to destroy that Horcrux, right?"

"What did you see in the memory, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry shrugged, as if unaffected, but she knew that to be far from the case. "He was inspecting his hand, the shrivelling one, with Snape." Here he paused, his face contorted with anger. "Snape was shouting at him. Insulting him. In a real temper, he was. Saying that this was the last straw, that he didn't want to and that he'd be more than happy to let that curse cause him a slow lingering death…"

Hermione's hand went to her mouth to stifle a gasp. How horrid. All of it.

"Dumbledore just said, 'Would it really destroy your soul to ease an old man's suffering?' and Snape continued snarling. He _wanted_ Dumbledore to suffer! He wouldn't help him ease the pain!"

"Makes you wonder if he's really on our side," Ron mused. "He won't even help Dumbledore when he's in pain."

"And Dumbledore just thanked him after that," Harry continued. "Calm as you please."

Yes, that did rather sound like Dumbledore, and like Snape, she was sad to admit. "Do you know when this memory took place?"

"No idea," Harry admitted, kicking a clump of mud and roots out of his path, and then stopping entirely to plop down on a nearby stump.

She and Ron followed suit.

"That's why he's been showing me those memories." Harry hung his head and buried his hands in his hair. "But I can't do it without him."

"You managed to destroy the Horcux in the Chamber of Secrets without him," she pointed out, a bit feebly.

"_You_ did that. _I _was unconscious at the time," Harry pointed out.

Hermione frowned. "How could you and I destroy a Hocrux unscathed—"

"_Mostly_ unscathed," Harry corrected.

"_Mostly_ unscathed," she agreed. "And yet the Headmaster, the greatest wizard of our time, was cursed?"

The trio fell into silence, pondering this. It didn't make any sense at all.


	9. Insufferable

**Chapter nine: _Insufferable_**

Harry decided that, as he was meant to go out again with the Headmaster on Friday, he'd wait until then to bring up the subject of the Headmaster's possible upcoming demise.

Hermione couldn't lie; the thought of Dumbledore no longer being around was disturbingly frightening. She might not agree with all that the elder man did, but she knew it would be a great blow to the light, to the Order, should Dumbledore die. He was the head of the fight, the general for their side. Without him they'd be… _lost. _Utterly and completely lost.

'Poor Harry,' Hermione couldn't help but think. How much worse must her friend be feeling? Harry depended on Dumbledore in ways that she and Ron and most other people couldn't understand.

But, she reminded herself rationally, there was no point in troubling themselves over something that wasn't certain. Although that conversation between Snape and Dumbledore that Harry heard left little doubt, even for Hermione's careful judgment.

But Snape refusing to ease the Headmaster's suffering? That was rather spiteful, even for Snape's standards. He was a most accomplished Potions master; it couldn't be _that_ difficult for him to brew something for his employer. Even if it were as complicated as the Wolfbane, surely it would still be worth the trouble.

Perhaps Snape was simply in a bad mood. Ron tended to shout out terrible things he didn't mean when in a fit of temper. If Harry had been told the same way Snape had learned about the Headmaster's possible death, she imagined he'd react angrily as well. He too might lash out at the Headmaster for leaving him when he most needed him. Harry might, just as Snape had done, insult him, yell at him, have a tantrum. In fact, that might be the true reason Harry wanted to wait until the end of the week before the confrontation. He needed time to calm down, to put things in perspective.

Thinking of it that way, Hermione pitied the Potions Master, though once again, she couldn't be sure that had been the way of it. She was working off too much assumption and not enough fact. Well, if there was one thing Hermione Granger could do, it was research. But it wasn't as if there was a book in the library about the confidences between the Hogwarts Headmaster and Potions Master. Well, she wasn't unobservant either. Who, excluding perhaps Dumbledore, saw more of Snape than she? She couldn't be so brazen as to ask outright, but she should be able to glean _something_ during her time spent with him.

In a surprising coincidence, the silver sickle grew warm against her chest. She, Ron and Harry had long since retreated to the warmth of the castle and Gryffindor common room, and neither was stunned when she rose and said there was work to be done.

She quickly returned to her room, closing the curtains surrounding her bed and pulled out her necklace.

No date or time was indicated, which meant she was to go to the dungeons as soon as possible.

On a Sunday afternoon? Hermione frowned and retrieved the Marauder's map. Getting there would be difficult. Students wandered about the castle on days like this, too cold to go outside but not wanting to stay cooped up in their common rooms. And of course, those who lingered in the dungeons were predominantly Slytherin.

She could use the map to try to avoid most of them, but it would be difficult. Plus, she didn't want to bring it back into Snape's reach. The Potions master would surely steal it back again. She could ask Harry for the invisibility cloak, but she ran the same risk of losing it to the professor, and all things considered, the cloak would be a greater loss than the Marauder's map.

She could take secret passages most of the way there, but getting into the dungeon classroom unseen would be the difficult part.

She could chance it, of course. And if she were questioned could say that she was off to ask the professor for help on an essay or something.

By luck alone, she met no one coming down.

"You took the map," he said by way of greeting.

"Yes, but I gave it back," she said. "Harry hadn't even noticed it'd gone." Actually, she hadn't yet returned it to Harry, but the professor didn't need to know that.

He scowled at her but said nothing else about it. "Haliwinkle is a lunar ingredient. They must be collected the night of the full moon. That's tonight."

She huffed indignantly at this. Of course she knew when the bloody full moon was. He ignored her and carried on.

"The anishotsy seeds need to be added at midnight. Can I be assured that you will not bungle the whole endeavour if I leave you to tend to it on your own?"

"Certainly, sir."

Snape nodded once, and began to extol things she already knew. How exactly to add the seeds, what pace and how many times she would likely need to turn it. Honestly, it was as if he believed she hadn't learned anything at all from his lessons, if he felt the need to tell her such simples as those.

"I tell you, Miss Granger, as a reminder," he said. "I don't want you, in your conceit, to miss a small but crucial element."

Hermione gasped in outrage. "You were using Legilimency!"

"It's your own fault it you let people into your mind."

She had been about to argue that she'd only had one lesson, but decided not to voice the disputation, assuming that he'd only mock her for it. He was bitter about the map, no doubt, she should expect a bit of unpleasantness.

A bit _more_ unpleasantness, she edited.

Smirking with a thought, she brought to her memory last week, when Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had been discussing 'female problems' in gross detail.

As she had hoped, the smirk caught his attention and she felt him press into her mind to find out why she was so smug.

He quickly withdrew in disgust, glowering at her, most unimpressed.

"It's your own fault, rummaging around in other people's minds," she told him, mimicking the tone he'd used on her not a moment before.

"You did that on purpose," he said, though in a rather more curious tone than she had expected.

She didn't answer him. Admitting it, she felt, would goad him more than she intended.

To her surprise, however, he said, "Do it again."

"What?" she asked, astounded.

"I dislike repeating myself, Granger. If you can't follow directions, then—"

"Again, all right. Let me think of something."

This time she tried to show a less offensive scene. The one she chose was of coming home for Christmas in her first year. _Her parents greeting her at King's Cross, the wonderful meal they'd cooked, drinking hot cider by the tiny fire in the sitting room._

_Then it changed. Instead it was of descending into the pit of Devil's Snare, then she was peeping around a corner with a mirror for fear of meeting the eyes of the basilisk, of that terrifying ride astride Buckbeak with Sirius and Harry, then Viktor was trying to take her for a broom ride, then he was kissing her._

"Stop it!" she cried as the memories kept being dragged forth.

"Make me!" he demanded cruelly, grabbing her chin so she couldn't even look away. Closing her eyes seemed equally impossible at this moment.

_Now she, Harry and Ron were sitting in the boys' room at Grimmauld place, talking and plotting to go behind the Order's back and… _

No.

Her knees buckled, and she fell back, her vision momentarily blacked out. She knew she wasn't unconscious because she was acutely aware of cold and unsympathetic stones beneath her, not only that but her back had landed on a step, not on even ground. It jarred painfully, as did the throbbing ache in her head.

With one hand pressed to her forehead, she pushed herself up to a sitting position with the other, long enough to glare hatefully at the man who stood over her trying to be imposing. Well, it was rather imposing but she was too annoyed to care.

She knew now how Harry must have felt. It was her fervent wish that he was out gathering haliwinkles all night and didn't get any sleep and was in a horrible mood the next day.

Actually, no, she didn't wish him any more hardships than already suffered through, but she did want to pull his ear, really hard, until he apologised.

Since there was very little chance of either of those two things happening, she lifted her chin.

"One more go, then?" she challenged. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. They'd play dirty.

He exhaled in a powerful snort through those sizable nostrils of his, and grabbed her by the elbow and lifted her rather forcefully to her feet.

She met him glare for glare, and when he took her chin in his hand this time, she made no move to escape him.

She'd give him a show, if that's what he wanted.

_Hermione was under the seats at the Quidditch Pitch, carefully, she eased up beneath the Potions Master and set his robes on fire. Then she was quickly and easily solving his logic puzzle to get to the Philosopher's stone. Then she was stealing ingredients to make Polyjuice from his personal stores. Next, she was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, watching him as his attire suddenly changed from the austere teaching robes to Neville's Grandmother's ensemble, complete with vulture hat. Then she was knocking him out cold in the Shrieking Shack. Next she and Harry were sneaking back in time to help free Sirius using Buckbeak. _

Her jaw popped as he thrust her chin away. He was breathing heavily and so was she, but Hermione suspected _he_ was doing it to control his temper. _She_ was doing it to control her exhilaration. He thought he was so much better than her and so she'd showed him many of her secret personal triumphs over him. She had certainly had control over that encounter. _She_ had chosen which memories he saw. However, reason told her that if Snape hadn't been curious as to what the next memory would be, had he been bored and wanted to see something else, he probably could have forced her mind all the same. She had simply used his curiosity to lure him to where she wanted him to be.

Sirius had used Snape's curiosity to lead him on too once upon a time, except Snape wasn't in danger of dying this time. After another moment she felt guilty for purposefully goading him, for letting him get to her and for retaliating so childishly. That wasn't very respectful, nor was it the way to win her any more instruction from him.

"I apologise sir," she said. Snape's head whipped around and fixed her with a suspicious glare, as if her saying sorry was just the second phase of a plan to anger him. "I shouldn't have done that. You made me lose my temper and I acted badly. It was disrespectful and I apologise."

After this speech she realised her jaw hurt, but she wasn't about to open it wide like a fish to try to stretch it out and get it back into place. Just one good pop was all she needed, but she couldn't do that in front of _him. _ She wanted him to take her apology seriously, and if she started making ridiculous faces at him, he'd take her for mocking him.

"Forgive me?" she asked tentatively.

He scrutinised her thoroughly, but he didn't try to enter her mind. "Get out," he said lowly.

"But weren't we going to brew–?"

"I said out, Granger."

"Yes, sir."

She ought to have known he wouldn't forgive her. His resentment, like his pride, was implacable.

.

"Told you she'd be here," said Ron proudly, only to be hushed by a disapproving Madam Pince.

"What is it?" she asked as Harry and Ron took seats next to her. She'd taken refuge in the usual place after that day's encounter with the Potions Master.

"Nothing," said Ron shrugging, pulling out books from his bag and setting them out on the table. "Sunday afternoon, so we thought we'd better get started on our homework."

"I applaud your initiative," Hermione said drily.

"Better not or Madame Pince will kick you out," said Harry, with a mock reproving look. "No clapping in the library!"

All three started laughing at the impersonation and got shushed by Madame Pince all the same. They fell silent for a moment, before giggling quietly among themselves.

Hermione had, of course, already finished her work, but she was doing a bit of extra research on something she'd come across while preparing for her Charms essay. The reference, while obscure, had been found easily enough. In its (rather scattered and non-alphabetised) bibliography, it mentioned another very promising sounding text, which, to her dismay, was located in the Restricted Section. No amount of her (admittedly limited) charm had succeeded in persuading the stern librarian to let her look for it without a signed note.

So Hermione had to content herself with the current volume, which was descriptive enough about the theory, but still left her a bit wanting as to the practical side of things.

It was almost an unspoken agreement that the three of them wouldn't mention what they had discussed that morning about the Headmaster. They would all wait until Harry spoke to him that coming Friday. Until then, they wouldn't mention death, curses, or Horcruxes.

Not to each other, at any rate. Hermione would probably mention all three next time she spoke to Professor Snape, but not necessarily in relation to the Headmaster. If what Harry saw in the pensieve was anything to go by, she doubted it was the professor's favourite topic of conversation.

The afternoon passed peacefully in this quiet employment, she'd occasionally check Harry's or Ron's essays for mistakes but in general they seemed (perhaps uncharacteristically) willing to do their own work. Not too long before dinner, Ginny came in and, seeing them, came over to their table.

"Hey, Ginny," greeted Harry with a smile. Ginny smiled back.

"Hallo, all." She plopped her things down next to Harry and took a seat. "Common room's a mad-house."

"Oh?" Hermione enquired politely, but not taking her eyes off the page she was reading. She did, however, open her mouth wide to pop her jaw yet again. She felt the need to do it every 20 minutes or so.

"What happened?" added Ron.

"Some of the fourth years managed to get a hold of Fred and George's latest Wheezes."

"That's probably more due to Fred and George's ingenuity than the fourth years'," Hermione put in disapprovingly.

"Ah, come off it, Hermione," said Harry teasingly. "You know you love them."

"They certainly love you," Ginny added, grinning much like the twins themselves would.

True, Fred and George Weasley _did _love Hermione in their own way. They used her to test their prototype products. They didn't test them _on_ her, thankfully, but they used her reactions as a gauge for the worthiness of their latest Wheeze. If Hermione wasn't sufficiently outraged by it, it wasn't worthy to put on their shelves. They constantly praised her for being 'indispensable' and even offered her a small wage. (A commission for each time they'd startled her near to death or infuriated her near to tears with their latest gag.) She, of course, refused this. 'Mum's no good,' they'd explained. 'She's outraged by everything.'

Hermione would never _ ever_ admit this to anyone, especially to Fred and George themselves, but she really did admire the twins. She only wished they'd put their talents towards something more noble, like the Ministry's Experimental Charms department. Fred had teased her, saying that he would woo her himself, but he didn't want to make 'ickle Ronnikins' angry. At the time she'd flushed with embarrassment and hope, but so far 'ickle Ronnikins' didn't seem to be making any sort of move. She glanced over at the red head in question. His face was scrunched up in confusion as he tried to write his essay.

She sighed and returned to her own work, wondering if Fred had been wrong.

SS

She couldn't block her mind, but she could bring forth other memories she wanted him to see. That skill was at the heart of his own ability to deceive the Dark Lord. However, throwing distracting memories to the fore would only distract for so long. Eventually, they would fail without being able to block off other more damning ones. Granger still couldn't hide her mind.

Not surprising, she'd only been practicing for a short time, but time was of the essence. Potter didn't realise that without Dumbledore to protect him, without Hogwarts, he barely stood a chance. If he didn't learn to Occlude soon…

As if his thoughts had been heard, the Dark Mark on his arm burned with his master's summons.

…

"They nearly have the Ministry, Headmaster," Severus reported when he returned late that night.

"I feared so," said the Headmaster gravely.

"They are waiting for Draco's attempt before they take-over." That's as close as he would come to saying 'They are waiting until you are out of the picture.'

Dumbledore, of course, understood. "I suspected as much. Are you prepared for that eventuality?"

Meaning; was he ready to fully immerse himself back into the Death Eaters, instead of the comfortable distance the castle and cover as Dumbledore's Potions teacher afforded?

_No, not in the slightest._

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Thank you, Severus," Albus said, patting his hand. "I know this won't be easy for you." An understatement, if ever there was one. "But I trust you, dear boy."

Severus nodded, unable to reply to this, and swept out of the room.

.

_Damn._

He'd forgotten that he'd told Granger to add the seeds. Had he not been summoned, he would already be out there now collecting Haliwinkle.

She was just finishing up when he entered.

"Back already?" she asked in surprise, though she was smiling. The way she was wiping off knives and putting them away gave Severus the bizarre sensation of having come home after work to a wife busy in the kitchen.

He shook away that ridiculous image and groused, "Haven't yet gone." He walked up behind her, leaning over to inspect the potion. She turned her head up her face to him.

"Well? Did I manage not to bungle it up too badly?" she asked rather tartly.

"Adequate, Granger," he said before striding off to collect his bag.

How soon would Draco try? How long did the Ministry have before complete take-over? When would Hogwarts fall into the Dark Lord's hands? When would he have to leave the castle and become a full Death Eater again? How longer before he was forced to kill the only person who truly trusted him?

Severus, once again, felt so very alone, the pressure of the enormity of his terrible task weighing on him. But he would do it. He _had_ to do it, for lack of anyone else equal to the task.

"So why the late start?" Granger asked. Right. The girl was still there.

"Something else came up," he answered, belatedly thinking that he should have just said, 'none of your business.'

Her "Oh," in reply sounded far too understanding to Severus' ear. That, in conjunction with her sympathetic expression made it seem as if she knew that he'd been summoned. She was a clever girl, of course she'd come to that conclusion. Curse her eyes. He didn't want her sympathy.

Although, it was rare indeed for anyone to show _him _ that kind of consideration...

Still, that didn't mean he wanted it. He was fine on his own; better left to his own devices. He neither needed nor wanted company.

He was marching to the door when he stopped and turned to her. "Well? Do you want to harvest Haliwinkles or don't you?" he snapped.

Her eyes lit up and she hastily magicked the things away before hurrying towards him. She looked up at him like an eager puppy about to go for a walk. He could almost see her tail wagging in excitement.

He growled at her but it did nothing to diminish her smile. Giving up, he took off down the corridor. A part of him hoped they would run into Argus on the way up; then he would be able to say he caught her out after curfew. He'd then be able to assign the insufferable girl detention as a punishment for tagging along on a harvesting trip when she wasn't wanted.

He heard that uneven shuffling step that belonged to the ever limping Argus Filch with evil relish.

"Evening, Professor Snape."

Severus nodded politely. "Argus."

"Quiet night. No misbehaving students today."

Severus clenched his teeth. Clearly Argus hadn't seen Granger, which meant either she was remarkably good at hiding or… "Apparently not," he ground out, feeling an invisible hand touch his arm.

Damn the girl and twice damn that cloak!

"Right then. Good night, Professor."

"Argus."

Severus walked on, wanting to shake off that invisible hand on his arm but he didn't, because he liked the idea of an invisible presence following him from an unknown location even less. It made the hairs in the back of his neck prickle just thinking about it.

Her grip on his arm tightened when they continued up even more stairs. "Why are we going up, and not out onto the grounds?" she whispered.

He didn't answer, but kept climbing, all the way up to one of the old Astronomy towers no longer in use. Even though it was completely dark and Granger hidden under an invisibility cloak, he could veritably see her expression of shock when he said "_Accio brooms_."

"We're fl.. flying?"

"Clearly."

"But can't we just apparate?" she asked desperately.

"I know it goes against your nature, but do refrain from asking questions. We are flying, and that's the end of it," he said, shoving a broom in her direction. By the feel of it, he'd punched her in the shoulder with it.

During the following silence he mounted his broom and waited for her to do the same.

"They know when we apparate, don't they?" she asked in quietly.

Severus clenched his teeth and said nothing.

"And floo. That's why we have to fly. They have control over the Department of Magical Transportation, haven't they?"

'Magical Transport and nearly everything else,' he did _not_ add aloud. Again, he was grudgingly impressed by how quickly her mind jumped to the correct conclusion.

"Miss Granger, you will keep your unfounded assumptions to yourself." They didn't want word to get around and have a castle-full of panicked students to deal with. The only non-Death Eaters who knew that information were Dumbledore and whomever the Headmaster had deigned to take into his confidence. He couldn't let her think she had been correct.

"I understand, sir." Once again, her tone of voice was all too knowing, and he doubted his belittling 'assumption' remark had had its desired effect.

HG

By letting her come, he was acknowledging that he didn't think her completely incompetent. Hermione didn't want to undo that hard-earned impression by exposing herself with her flying phobia. So, she straddled her broom, closed her eyes and thought of England, so to speak.

She was determined not to show him this weakness, (a feat made easier by the invisibility cloak hiding her terrified expression). So, she pushed off the ground as she'd been taught in first year flying lessons, and tried to simultaneously keep both her broom and stomach steady. She only half succeeded on both counts.

'Oh god, oh god, oh god…" she repeated, nearly panicking when Snape set off so quickly and at such a steep incline. She had no choice but to follow.

She did her best not to look down.

It took two hours to get there, and she had been near hyperventilating the entire time. Her hands clutched the broom handle so tightly her knuckles were white. If she thought she would grow used to it, and it would be easier in time, she'd been wrong. It was a nightmare from start to finish.

It was with overwhelming relief that she began the descent onto what looked like misty moorland. The moment she touched down, she dropped her broom, stumbled a few steps away, and vomited.

So much for not showing him any weakness.

He might not have seen the display but she didn't doubt that he'd heard it.

She cleaned up the mess and herself as best she could before removing the cloak. He was inspecting her with his arms crossed disapproving over his chest.

"I don't much care for heights," she explained feebly. "Or flying," she added even more quietly. She was still a bit shaky but every passing moment her feet were on solid ground, the better she continued to feel. Then she spotted it. "Haliwinkle!"

SS

"Haliwinkle!" And just like that, her discomfort vanished and she was once again the eager puppy.

"Don't do anything until I tell you," he commanded. "There is a certain way it must be done and I won't have you ruining ingredients with your… _ enthusiasm_."

"Right."

"You are, under no circumstances whatever, to light your wand, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

They only bloomed in the light of the full moon, any other light would make it wilt right away.

"Watch carefully."

He demonstrated several times the precise method of first removing the leaves, then the bud, then the stem, and the proper way to pack it away.

Severus watched her do it, and while she wasn't as efficient about it as he was, she didn't make any mistakes, for all that her hands shook slightly. So he let her continue as he went about his own harvesting.

…

"Professor!"

For the third time that evening, he stopped what he was doing to see whatever it was this time that Granger had found and wanted to show him.

"Is there something growing on this one? Is it a parasite or something else? Should I put it in with the others?"

Frowning curiously, he plucked it out of her hand to examine it more thoroughly. Frustrated by the inadequate light, he put that piece aside for later inspection, careful to keep it separate from the others lest it contaminate them.

"We'll look into it later," he told her. "Keep searching."

She nodded and went off again, staying in sight as he'd told her.

Half an hour later he heard her swear loudly. Surprised at hearing foul language from her he looked up, and saw what had caused the outburst. A spot of light in the distance approached through the fog.

"Stay there, I'll lead it away," she whispered, and quickly rose and hurried toward the light that would ruin all the remaining haliwinkle.

Severus' first reaction was to tell her to stay back and let him handle it but really, hinkypunks were covered in third year, and weren't very dangerous at all. Granger was more than capable of dealing with it so he left her to it, hoping that its faux-lantern light hadn't spoiled anything.

He continued working.

Half an hour later he stopped, realising that Granger had not yet returned. Standing slowly (with small pops of protest from abused joints) he looked around for signs of either girl or hinkypunk.

He saw neither. He couldn't light his wand to look for her nor could he send a patronus. Grumbling to himself about silly girls who get lost in moors, he started off in the direction she'd gone.

A disobliging cloud passed overhead, blocking out what little light there was. Severus swore under his breath, not only unable to see Granger, but his own footing as well.

"Damn it." What he wouldn't give for the hand of glory now.

The cloud blew past and once again light spilled over the heath. He finally saw her, quite a distance away, slowly making her way back. Annoyed that he'd been taken away from his work for nothing, he returned to gathering haliwinkles with a speed fuelled by frustration. It was only later, when she returned with a simple greeting of "Back, sir," that he reflected how much more annoying it would have been if she really had gone off and gotten herself hurt. That would have wasted even more time in the end.

"I used a shrouding spell so it wouldn't destroy any more specimens then charmed it to a tree. It'll wear off once it gets light. Took a while to find one. Not many trees out here, are there?"

"No, indeed," he groused. "Now I suggest you get back to work."

"Of course, sir."

.

"You're a very good flyer, Professor," Granger remarked, almost enviously after emptying her stomach once again when they landed back at Hogwarts. "Don't think I'll ever quite get the hang of it. Can't stand it, really."

"Considering the company you keep, Miss Granger, one would think you'd have a better appreciation."

"I do, but as a spectator only."

"So you like to watch, then?"

"Absolutely," she replied, wholly oblivious to the innuendo. "Don't tell Harry or Ron or Viktor you got me on a broom. They've been trying for years to get me to fly."

He rolled his eyes. "Your secret is safe."

She smiled. "I know." She handed him the samples she'd collected. "You go on down, I think I'll stay up here for a while." She turned her face away to face the east, where the sun was beginning to make its ascent. She covered her mouth as she yawned, her jaw making a very odd popping sound as she did.

_Another sleepless night_, he thought as he descended the many staircases to go back to the dungeons. He needed to store the ingredients before breakfast.

HG

She yawned all through breakfast, and even put her head down during history of magic.

"You all right, Mione?" Ron asked, shaking her shoulder gently.

"What?" She lifted her head, startled. "Oh, yes," she said rubbing her eyes.

"Well, liven up then!" said Ron, nudging her with an elbow. "Notes won't take themselves."

"Rita Skeeter didn't seem to have that problem," Harry griped. He was in a sour mood after reading yet another horrid article, not about Harry, she was keeping to her word about that lest Hermione turn her in for being an illegal animagus, but about the Ministry itself.

Shaking the sleep away from her head, she took back up her quill and did her best to pay attention to wheezy professor Binns.

The Cauldron Convention of 1835, introduced the current legal standards for cauldron bottoms… This was a benchmark in regulatory measures in wizard business and…

_Had_ that been a parasite on the Haliwinkle? And _why_ had he let her come along to begin with?

At the time she'd been so pleased she hadn't questioned it, but now she couldn't help but wonder.

He definitely hadn't wanted her along before. What had changed? Perhaps, having such a late start, he'd conceded that twice the people would get it done in half the time?

Or perhaps…

It wasn't _that_ much of a stretch to believe that even Snape desired a bit of company sometimes, especially after a horrid Death Eater meeting. He might not admit it, but he was human after all. No man is an island. But Hermione had to admit that if he wanted company, she probably wouldn't be his first choice. But beggars can't be choosers, she supposed.

Thinking of Snape as a beggar made her quite unhappy, for some reason. Such a proud man brought so low.

Yes, Hermione was aware that she was probably painting the man as something different than what he was, but he gave her so little to go on she had to do the rest herself.

Despite him being a perfect beast most times, she found herself wanting to help him in any way she could. He was clearly unhappy, he didn't bother hiding that fact. He displayed his surly attitude for all the world to see. But she was determined to see him as a person. As such, she couldn't help but asking questions that she had very little chance of learning the answers.

.

"Miss Granger, if you will kindly refrain from falling asleep in my class," said Professor Snape in a deadly quiet tone that afternoon. "Perhaps you should curtail whatever activities that prevent you from getting decent sleep at night."

"I wasn't asleep," she said, jerking to an upright position. It was true, she hadn't been asleep, but she was in danger of nodding off. She was bloody exhausted. How he could swoop about like that after having gotten absolutely no sleep the night before she didn't know. She had been inclined to think of his remark as an insult at first, but then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and took it as him acknowledging that he understood the reason why she was tired, but gently (as gentle as Snape could be, at any rate) reminding her despite being up all night gathering ingredients, it still wouldn't do to fall asleep in class.

And he was absolutely right.

"Then you won't mind telling me what I just said about—"

"Leaping toadstools?" she finished for him. "That if the stalk is sliced vertically, the effects will be the opposite than when sliced horizontally?"

He frowned at her, and before moving on, he growled under his breath, "_Insufferable little know-it-all._"

She grinned, for some reason not hurt by the insult this time. If he'd wanted to demean her in front of the class, he would have said it aloud for all to hear, so he must have simply been congratulating her on getting the correct answer in his own Snape-ish fashion.

Yes, she thought. Things were much more pleasant if one decided to believe the best of people. Granted, during these dark times it wasn't safe to believe the best of everyone, but Dumbledore trusted Snape.

And so did she.


	10. A Poignant Lesson

**CHAPTER 10: A Poignant Lesson**

"An Order meeting?" asked Ron, as they gathered in the common room after dinner the following evening.

Harry nodded. "Lupin told me."

"Those wankers! My whole family is in the Order and they didn't tell me there was a meeting. We're members now, they can't keep us out of it like that!" Ron fumed.

"What is it about, Harry? Did Lupin tell you?" interjected Hermione.

"No. He doesn't know yet. Just thought that I had a right to know as it's my house, and I'm also an Order member."

"Too right we have a right to know! We should be there! Come on, let's go to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione sighed. "Ron, turning up when we aren't wanted won't accomplish anything but make them cross with us. Appearing in London won't change that fact; they'll still keep us out of the meeting."

"Well," said Ron, searching for a rebuttal. "They need to know that we won't be kept in the dark. We'll make them tell us what they're meeting about and why they don't include us. Once we're there, we won't be kicked out, eh, Harry?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "Perhaps Dumbledore will say something about him…" Harry paused, and stumbled over the final word. "Dying. He might have wanted to keep it from us but as we already know…"

"You aren't honestly suggesting we go to London, Harry?" she asked, shocked.

He grinned mischievously at her. "You don't have to come, Hermione," he said.

She huffed. "You know very well I'm going if you are. I just wish you wouldn't."

"Come on, Mione. You really think it's fair for them to be there while we are here?"

"Of course not, but it's not worth angering the other members by showing up unannounced and uninvited. We could get in trouble."

Hermione was brought back to many other instances during their time at Hogwarts, and felt ridiculously like a child again, afraid of getting points docked or being assigned detention, or the very worst, expelled. Now the stakes were higher, and she knew that she'd cave and go along with them anyway, just as she always had. Hermione wondered vaguely if this was how Remus Lupin had felt when trying to restrain the more reckless Sirius Black and James Potter.

She sighed resignedly. "Get the Cloak, then," she told them.

Harry raced back to his dormitory to fetch his father's Invisibility Cloak and Ron smiled at her, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Knew you'd come round," he said complacently, and while she wanted to be angry at his smugness, she couldn't be when he was holding her like that. In fact, she had to fight as hard as she could to keep the smile off her face.

They were, of course, too large for all three of them to fit under the Cloak entirely, so they Disillusioned themselves and hunched over, trying to be as short as possible so the Cloak would reach further to the ground . It was awkward and uncomfortable, to say the least, but they maintained that method of movement for as long as they were in the castle. Disillusionment charms would hopefully be enough when they were outside and no one was around, but in the castle people would be able to see the shimmer as they moved.

They were almost near the entrance hall when they heard a yowl of disapproval.

"Mrs. Norris. She can see through the cloak, I think," Harry whispered. "Or smell us. Cover's blown, either way."

"Then let's run!" urged Ron.

"There's no way people won't notice or hear us if we do that!" said Hermione. It was just before curfew; people were starting to return to their dormitories, so many students and teachers were out.

"So what do we do?" asked Ron.

Nothing, actually. They were saved by none other than Crookshanks. He looked directly at them, then to the yowling Mrs. Norris, and pounced.

"Get her, Crooks!" Hermione whispered fiercely as the catfight broke out. The yowling, snarling, and hissing caused quite a commotion, drawing many students to watch the brawl. No one rooted for Mrs. Norris. When Filch showed up, panting and in quite a state of temper, he attempted to kick Crooks, but the clever ginger cat dodged, racing away beyond the old caretaker's clutches.

"Always liked that cat," commented Harry as they slipped unnoticed out the front doors.

Hermione gave an expectant look at Ron, but he didn't say anything. Apparently, despite knowing that Crookshanks hadn't eaten Scabbers, and that it wouldn't have been a bad thing even if he had, Ron still couldn't bring himself to like her familiar. Sheer stubbornness was all it amounted to, to Hermione's mind. He still couldn't admit after all these years that she'd been right and he'd been wrong. She silently gloated about it on their way to the forest.

They didn't actually walk _in_ the forest, not after all their misadventures there; Harry meeting Quirrel-cum-Voldemort, the boys having a run in with Aragog, tricking the centaurs into running off with Umbridge, nearly being smashed by Grawp. It wasn't that Grawp wasn't a… a lovely giant… but they weren't in a hurry to have a reunion with any of those characters. Since Aragog's death, there was no such thing as a friendly acromantula. Actually, despite whatever Hagrid may say, she doubted there was any such thing _before_ Aragog's death either.

Still, it was too chancy to stay on the main path, so they walked along the forest's edge.

"Ooh!" Hermione cried in delight, spotting an interesting species of rare night-blooming fungus nearby. "Wait here and let me collect that, will you?"

"Collect what?"

She didn't answer their questions, but darted out from under the Cloak and dashed to the trees.

She did some hasty transfiguration to make a box in which to carry her sizable mushroom, and made quick work of cutting it as low on the stalk as possible.

"Psst!" came a desperate call.

Knowing it was a warning, she froze, thanking Merlin she was still Disillusioned. Risking turning her head slightly, she saw someone approach.

At first, she thought they'd get away with it, until one of the boys, probably Ron, snapped a twig underfoot, drawing the other person's attention.

His wand snapped to attention and he demanded "Who's there?" in the deadliest voice she'd ever heard. She didn't know whether to be thankful or horrified that it was Snape, but she knew that that crazy calm in his intonation was a truly terrifying thing. She was frozen with fear, as the boys must have been too, if they had any sense at all.

"Reveal yourself," he ordered in a purr, the threat 'or suffer excruciating consequences' inescapably implied. Knowing that he must have thought she was either a naughty student or a Dark wizard trying to infiltrate the castle, the safer course was to simply admit to being out of bounds rather than be incapacitated by whatever painful curse he'd fire at her if she didn't.

She made her decision instantly, deciding to take the blame for all three of them. True, his wand was pointed to where the boys were hidden under the Cloak, but had they not been there, she'd have been directly in the line of fire.

"It's me, Professor Snape," she announced, taking off the charm that concealed her.

"Granger," he spat, not lowering his wand. So that he wouldn't approach and force Harry and Ron to move aside and possibly give themselves away, she went to him. She was about a metre and a half away when he told her to stop.

She did, watching him warily.

He advanced, pushing the tip of his wand into the crevice where her neck met her jaw. It was very uncomfortable and her heart rate shot up in a panic. She felt the wand point push oddly against her throat when she swallowed hard.

"When," he whispered dangerously, 'was the last time you were on a broom?"

She sighed in relief. It was just a standard procedure security question to confirm her identity. Then she panicked anew. She couldn't answer truthfully or Ron and Harry would find out she had been out collecting ingredients with Snape two nights ago. She couldn't _not_ give a truthful answer or Snape would kill her thinking she was an impostor. She could invite him to use Legilimency to see for himself, but he would most likely find out that Harry and Ron were currently with her.

Quandary.

She cleared her throat. "Well, everyone knows how I feel about flying, so it couldn't _possibly_ have been day before yesterday, could it?" she said with a tone of sarcasm that she hoped would at least confuse the boys and let Snape know that she was playing with the fact that she'd sworn him to secrecy about the truth of her latest broom ride.

To her uttermost relief, he removed his wand from her neck.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, clearly furious but not as furious as he would have been had she been a Dark wizard intent on breaking into Hogwarts.

She shrugged, and held out the open box, displaying the mushroom she had taken. "It's a—" she began but he cut her off.

"I know very well what it is. Why you are out here to collect it is the question. A remarkably stupid move, even for a Gryffindor."

"It's night-blooming, so it had to be at night. I'd hoped to find it, and be back in the castle before curfew."

"But you weren't, were you?" he drawled. "Instead, you are out of bounds, after curfew. Get back to the castle now. I'll decide when I return just how many points Gryffindor deserves to lose and what your detention will be."

Hermione grimaced at the amount he would likely take. Seeing her expression, he nodded. "That's right, Granger. The loss will be astronomical. Perhaps you'll think twice before you go harvesting in the _Forbidden_ Forest on your own. Back to the castle. Now." Before he turned and swept down the path to Hogsmeade, he took one last glance at her rare mushroom, snatched the box away from her and tucked it under his arm as he strode away.

She was about to accuse him of simply liking to take things that weren't his, but didn't dare in front of Harry and Ron. In fact, she probably wouldn't have dared even if they hadn't been there, not with Snape's mood and considering how much trouble she was in.

She stayed silent as she slowly made her way back to the castle, knowing that Harry and Ron were following her under the Cloak.

"That was a close one," said Ron, sounding relieved.

"For _you_," she pointed out, reminding him that _she _had not escaped unscathed.

"He wasn't at all as bad as I thought he'd be," Harry remarked, brows drawn together in confusion.

"Well, you tend to bring out his temper," Hermione hedged. "And since he didn't know you were there… Besides, he's probably on his way to the Order meeting as well and too busy to dish out my punishment right then and there. I fear for Gryffindor's chances for the Cup," she said in real concern.

"Are we still going?" asked Ron.

"I can't," Hermione put in immediately. "Professor Snape will be there. And don't think you two _won't_ be punished when you turn up there."

"It'll be worth it."

Hermione turned to Harry, knowing that it was really his decision. If he went, Ron would go. If he didn't, Ron wouldn't.

"I'm going. Once in Hogsmeade, I'll just Apparate to Grimmauld Place and—"

"No!" Hermione blurted out.

"What? Why not? We're all of age now. It's the simplest way."

Hermione didn't know what to do, how to explain what she knew. "Don't Apparate. Disguise yourselves and go on the Knight Bus."

"We're hardly going to splinch ourselves, Mione. No need to worry," said Ron, trying to be comforting.

"I'm perfectly confident in your ability to Apparate, Ronald. I'm just not certain you should. Just… promise me you'll take the Knight Bus and I'll explain why when you get back. You'll be very late if you wait around for me to explain."

Hopefully, by the time they came back from the meeting, their minds would be too occupied with the events of the meeting to enquire about that or the odd security question Snape had asked her.

Harry nodded. "You've never been wrong before," he said with a small grin as he gripped her shoulder in a friendly gesture.

"Now," she said in her 'back to business' voice. "You two can't just hop on the bus without being recognised. We don't have time to brew anything, so superficial changes will have to do."

A total of three minutes later, both Harry and Ron were sufficiently disguised. The final result left Harry with ridiculous blond hair and his nose transformed into a bulbous, almost comical protuberance. Ron, whose most distinctive characteristic was his mad mop of red hair, was simply disguised by changing it to a lengthier mousy brown and donning Harry's glasses. Their Hogwarts uniforms, of course, were transfigured into regular plain black robes.

She told them the counter spells to return themselves to normal so they could appear at the meeting without looking ridiculous and watched them conceal themselves under the Cloak again. She grinned, imagining them staggering to Hogsmeade, Harry because he couldn't see well enough without his spectacles, and Ron because he couldn't see _with _them.

She didn't bother worrying about how much trouble the boys would be in, and she didn't concern herself over what was happening at the Order meeting. She would learn about all about it in due course. For now, she needed to complete as much work as possible to get even further ahead in preparation for the countless detentions she'd no doubt be serving. Without the boys in the common room to provide distraction, her studies went much more smoothly.

At least she knew that they weren't immediately sent back to the castle when they arrived, for they were gone for a long time. Of course she considered the possibility that they had never made it to the meeting, that they'd had an accident, that someone had recognised and attacked them and a number of other equally disturbing scenarios, but deep down she felt that they had made it, and been bawled out, then finally allowed to sit in on the meeting, no doubt to the delight of the Weasley twins who would admire their 'damn the torpedoes' attitude.

Despite herself, her mind wandered back to being caught near the forest. Had Snape truly gone easy on her? Well, she wouldn't know until she discovered the punishment he intended to mete out to her.

Still, she couldn't get that murderous voice out of her head. The power and the confidence in the way he made his threat was almost debilitating. Actually, he hadn't even made a threat, it was implicit in the way he said, "Reveal yourself." Thinking of it made her stomach feel slightly fluttery, probably because she'd come close to being cursed within an inch of her life.

Professor McGonagall entered the common room with Harry and Ron, at the end of what had no doubt been a long and angry lecture.

"50 points from Gryffindor each for utter recklessness! You're acting just like—" She stopped herself, unable for some reason to finish the thought. Hermione had a suspicion, however, that she'd been about to say '_your father._'

She then noticed Hermione sitting on the couch in front of the fire and heaved a gusty sigh. "Miss Granger, 100 points to Gryffindor for… for… exemplary use of logic and sensibleness."

Completely flabbergasted, Hermione looked between the boys and the Transfiguration professor, but neither party offered any explanation. McGonagall sighed again and left.

"What was all that about?"

"How did you know?" asked Ron, looking impressed.

"Know what?" she replied, thinking that the answer was probably that she'd read it somewhere, most likely in _Hogwarts, a History_.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Harry suggested. "We arrived at the Order meeting, only you were right. They were furious."

"McGonagall was right scary," Ron added.

"I mean, we knew they'd be angry but we didn't expect it to be as bad as it was. They all started arguing about relocating Headquarters and whether we should leave immediately. It was Snape who finally calmed things down by suggesting that before they jump to hasty conclusions that they ask us how we got there. Everyone went quiet and looked at us and we told them we disguised ourselves and took the Knight Bus."

"It was like everyone sighed with relief at the same time, but mum started howling again about how dangerous it had been, how foolish we were, the usual tripe."

"She said we could have ruined everything just by turning up, and it was only lucky that we'd taken the bus or that she'd put us both over her knee. And that would be just the start."

"I don't understand," said a frowning Hermione.

"Neither did we at first. Turns out the meeting had been to discuss that the Ministry has control of Magical Transportation. They know when we Apparate and Floo. Of course, since Grimmauld Place is secret kept, Order members can Floo there and then the Ministry can't see where we Floo to. They thought we'd Apparated, as we couldn't possibly have had time to fly from Hogwarts."

"I said we thought about it," admitted Ron. "And Lupin asked why we'd changed our minds."

"I told him you told us not to," Harry continued. "And Lupin said thank Merlin for that. When he asked what your reasons were, we told him you didn't give us any, we just did what you said."

"And that Greasy Git said it was the only wise decision we'd ever made," Ron snarled.

Hermione was secretly pleased by the near-compliment.

"Tell us, Hermione. How did you know not to Apparate when the Order was only just told tonight?" Harry's eyes were intent and serious, and she knew that she couldn't just wave it off as 'feminine intuition.' Harry's expression showed silent certainty and expectation. He _knew_ she knew.

"I only had my suspicions… From what I've read in the Prophet, it seems that people had been located and attacked only moments after they arrived somewhere… even when they hadn't informed anyone of their destination. The only possibly way anyone could have got there so fast was if they could track where people Apparated. It happened too often to be a coincidence. People are so afraid of Death Eaters they are beginning to think of them as spectres or something sort of 'other being.' That fear keeps people from thinking logically, which is that they must have control of the Department of Magical Transportation."

Ron shook his head in wonder. "Always knew you were the brightest witch of our age. Saved our arses tonight. If they'd seen Harry and me Apparate, and right in front of Grimmauld Place no less, that would have been as good as letting them know where Headquarters was. Why didn't you tell us before about it, though?"

"I think about a lot of things, and I promise you wouldn't thank me for sharing every thought that comes into my head."

"No, but thanks for that one, Hermione. I mean it," said Harry. "He's right. It could have been bad."

"But instead you only have…."

Harry rolled his eyes. "A week of detention with McGonagall and 100 points from Gryffindor."

"But it comes out even, with the points she gave Hermione," Ron pointed out hopefully.

"You're forgetting, Ronald, Snape has yet to announce his punishment for my being out after curfew. It could very well be a week's detention and a hundred points as well."

Ron pouted, slumping in to his seat and crossing his arms moodily. "Git," he mumbled, just as her sickle began to burn…

.

She arrived at midnight, just as he'd requested.

Raising one eyebrow, he held up the mushroom for inspection. Hermione recognised it as the night blooming fungi he'd taken from her earlier.

"They were under that cloak, weren't they," he stated, not looking at her but at the fungus as he twirled it between thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, sir." She was surprised by how steady her voice was, and it wasn't until a moment later that she realised she wasn't afraid of him. His voice, while studiously calm, was not that same dangerous drawl he'd used outside when he had thought she might have been someone more threatening.

"You were sneaking out to go to the meeting."

"Yes, sir."

"You revealed yourself so they wouldn't be caught." Again, his tones were moderate and even.

"Yes, sir."

"And then sent them on to Headquarters without you."

"Yes, sir."

He shook his head, taking a deep calming breath.

"And you thought this was a good idea."

"No, sir." He finally lowered the mushroom and faced her, lifting an eyebrow. "I was against it, but when Harry and Ron have made up their mind about something…" She wondered if he'd noticed her use of the singular _mind_, as if they shared just the one between them. "The best thing you can do is go with them and try to keep them from getting hurt."

Snape eyed her for a long time, nodding slowly. She knew he wasn't using Legilimency, only studying her, yet somehow she felt just as invaded.

"I'm sorry," she said, wondering if that had been what he'd been waiting for, or some other sort of confession. "I knew that once they turned up at Headquarters, you'd figure out I'd deceived you."

"You'd gone that far, I rather wondered why you didn't just go to the meeting."

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Yes, she had known she was already in trouble, and would get into even more trouble for helping Harry and Ron, so why hadn't she just gone with them if the punishment would have been just the same?

"Because you told me to go back to the castle," she admitted, only just realising it herself. Had it been another teacher or Filch, would she have just as dutifully returned? No, indeed she wouldn't have, something she could see the Potions master had worked out for himself. She didn't know whether to be mortified or not. Was it such an embarrassing thing, to admit to someone that you respected them over most, if not all, others?

"You may start cleaning those cauldrons," he said, breaking the silence and tension that had filled the room. "Without magic."

"You know for a Muggleborn, not using magic isn't a punishment, just nostalgic." It was a rather foolish remark, in retrospect, for he gave her the most calculating look.

"Very well, come back tomorrow at eight and I'll have something more suitable for you."

He held out the mushroom for her. Surprised, she took it, thinking absurdly that most men just gave flowers. Trust Severus Snape to give a girl a toadstool. She shook her head, clearing away those foolish thoughts. It wasn't a date they were planning, it was a detention, and he was hardly giving a present; merely returning something to her… which in and of itself was surprising. He hadn't taken any points, though; that was practically like giving chocolates, a voice in her mind supplied.

_Stupid girl_, she told herself, yet still chuckling over the ridiculousness of that image.

"Goodnight, sir."

He barely inclined his head in response and she left, using a Disillusionment Charm and secret passages to get back to Gryffindor Tower...

.

"What are you doing tonight, Mione?" asked Ron at dinner.

"If that's a roundabout way of asking for help on your homework, I can't. I have detention."

"So've we," said Harry.

"Oi, I might've been genuinely interested," Ron huffed.

"You mean you weren't wondering if I'd do your essay since you'd be in detention all evening?" she asked wryly, lifting an eyebrow.

"Never mind," he grumbled.

"Well, I'd better get down to the dungeons," she said. "Professor Snape has already left and I imagine he'll take off more points for every minute I'm late."

"Meet in the common room after?" Harry suggested.

"If I'm not confined to scrubbing cauldrons until the wee hours of the morning. If I'm not back by midnight, just go on to bed."

Ron shook his head. "Sorry you couldn't have McGonagall like us. Rotten luck you're stuck with Snape all evening."

"Professor Snape, Ron. I'll see you later.

An odd part of her was excited. Whatever this detention was, she knew it would be challenging, and she knew it wouldn't involve cleaning without magic. Wondering what Snape had come up with, she descended into the dungeons.

Snape rose from his desk when she entered, crossing the room to her.

"Yes, sir?"

With no warning, he reached out and grabbed her chin with one hand.

"What!" she blurted, heart hammering.

"A lesson first," he answered, and entered her mind. She knew which memories she wanted to hide and which memories she didn't care if he saw. She worked on not blocking her mind entirely but showing him inoffensive memories. He was gentle inside her mind, but she could tell he was looking for something.

_She was arguing with Harry and Sirius about Kreacher._

_ She was sitting in the common room knitting caps, and then Dobby standing proudly in front of her wearing each and every one, explaining that he cleans Gryffindor House all by himself, as the other elves are afraid of being accidentally freed._

He nodded, as if satisfied with what he'd seen.

Releasing her, Snape returned to his desk, taking from it a longish piece of parchment. "This is a list of house elf chores, provided by Mr. Filch. You are to take this list to the kitchens and assign and oversee each task. You are not allowed to say 'please'. You are not allowed to say 'thank you'. You are not allowed to forbid them to punish themselves. You are not allowed to help or encourage them in any way, including but not limited to words of praise, appreciation, or kindly looks or gestures. You will say nothing to them other than to give them their assignments and you are not to address them by name, but simply as 'elf'. You are not under any circumstance to apologise to them for your treatment of them, either during or after this detention. Is that clear, Miss Granger? If you disobey in any way, I will know."

Hermione stared at him, struck with the horribleness of it. She wanted to be angry at Professor Snape, but she could only feel self-loathing at what she would have to do. To act heartless, and order them about as if they were dirt under her feet, not magical beings with the right to wages and benefits. She felt so strongly about house elf enslavement and now she was forced to act as their slave-driver. This seemingly simple detention broke her will and heart in a way that no number of hours of disgusting manual labour could ever do.

"Please," she whispered, desperate but too reticent to try anything more dramatic. "Anything else."

"No. As you said, Miss Granger, having you clean or prepare unsavoury potions ingredients would be no punishment to you. You enjoy work too much. You've done something wrong and you need to feel it, to learn not to do it again."

True, she might break any number of rules if all she'd suffer was a few points taken and a few hours of wandless work. However, if she had known that what happened in the forest would have brought about this punishment, she certainly would have rethought her actions.

She had yet to take the parchment he held out to her. He waved it under her nose cruelly. "Go, girl. The house elves await your orders."

Bitter, angry, and resigned, she snatched the parchment away and turned on her heel, not taking any sort of leave of him.

Her steps slowed as she approached the painting of the bowl of fruit, but she inevitably reached it. Reluctantly, she tickled the pear, and it giggled cruelly, as if it were laughing at her. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to do this.

At the first elf she saw, she bid it press and sort Hufflepuff's laundry. She'd given the order with a rising intonation, which made it sound more like a question rather than a direct command.

The coin burned and she pulled it out eagerly, hoping for an excuse to leave the kitchens. The sickle read, '_Do it properly or you will be back again tomorrow.'_

She looked around the kitchens, wondering how Snape could have possibly known, trying and failing to find whatever device it was that he was using to spy on her.

In any case, it seemed she wouldn't get away with asking them to do things, only telling them.

Her second attempt was shaky, and she hated herself for doing it, but the sickle didn't warm again, so it must have been satisfactory.

The elves began eyeing her askance, her actions so far being quite the reverse from what they were used to from her. Perhaps they thought this was some sort of trick, and that she would, at some unguarded moment, pounce on them with clothes. She wanted nothing more than to reassure them, to explain that she was being forced to do this.

"Miss!" Dobby came bounding towards her, greeting Hermione happily.

She opened her mouth to respond in kind before she remembered that was against the rules. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to meet his eyes. Pulling the parchment in front of her, she looked at the next task.

"Polish the silverware." She hesitated before forcing herself to add, "Elf."

The hurt in his eyes and the way his ears flopped disappointedly made her feel like her heart was being twisted and pulled, as if it were some dampened garment someone was attempting to wring out to dry.

"Dobby will do what he is told," he said, hunched over but not in his usual attempt to curb his enthusiasm, but genuinely cowering in humility, perhaps even hurt or betrayal. She knew that Dobby would have been more than happy to do anything she asked, but he was such a sensitive creature, and she'd hurt his feelings. After having been slave to the Malfoys, Dobby had found a safe place and kind people at Hogwarts. She didn't want him to think that that had changed.

Worse was when he'd come back immediately after completing his task. She'd hoped he'd stay away but he didn't, and she was forced to coldly order him to complete another chore.

"Has Dobby done something to offend Miss?" he asked worriedly, still crouching in fearful subservience. It pained her to see him that way. Worse, she couldn't reassure him, so she merely repeated the order, still using the appellation 'elf' instead of his name. His bulbous eyes filled with tears as he disappeared with a _crack_, and hers did as well.

And so it continued for three hours, and Hermione grew more and more horrified with herself as her voice became increasingly steady when she gave her commands. How cold she must seem to them. How unfeeling.

At last, the final task was done and she was free to leave. Before she managed to escape the kitchens, she was once more accosted by an apologetic Dobby.

"Dobby has displeased Miss. Dobby will punish himself!"

She drew in a deep breath to shout "No!" but it caught in her throat. She wasn't allowed to tell him not to. At the first cry of pain from his self-inflicted punishment, grinding his fingertips with a mortar and pestle, Hermione raced out of the kitchens, unable to bear it. She slid down the stone wall beside the painting of the bowl of fruit, hid her face in her hands, and cried.

She was such a rotten person, having betrayed them _and _her own moral principles. She wasn't magically compelled to act that way, she did it on her own because she was told to. She didn't have to do the detention, she could have refused, demanded that she be assigned something different, but she hadn't even done that. What did that say about her? Shouldn't she have stood up for S.P.E.W? Why had she gone along with that terrible detention without a word of protest?

She hadn't heard him approach over the sound of her own sniffling, but as she lifted her head to swipe the tears from her eyes, she saw those characteristic black robes before her.

"Why did you make me do that?" she asked quietly, wanting to hate the Potions master but somehow unable to summon the energy. He'd beaten her down and she wasn't getting up anytime soon. Certainly a most effective detention.

He was quiet for a long moment before he replied. "When you can say or do something you know in your heart isn't right, you have truly gained the control to hide your mind. My congratulations, Miss Granger." By the way he said it, it may as well have been, 'My _condolences_, Miss Granger.'

She nodded shakily. "Yes, sir."

Looking up at him, she realised he lived with this pain every day of his life, having to pretend to be a Death Eater and forced to do things he reviled. His life was her detention, only infinitely worse. She wanted to hug the man who'd just made her so miserable but dismissed the impulse immediately. He would no sooner want an embrace from her than she would from Filch. What would it change, anyway? It wouldn't make the situation better. The only thing it would do would be to ease her own guilt about leaving her fellow Order member so alone in the cold.

Had he given her the detention in an attempt to make her understand him better, or had it been a coincidence? Or if not a coincidence, just a subconscious action on his part, doling out punishment that he himself lived with on a daily basis. Was it a release to him to make others feel that pain, even if it was to a diminished degree? If so, she couldn't resent any detention he gave out, no matter how insignificant the offence had been. Hermione decided she was probably over-thinking things again. He'd probably just thought to kill two birds with one stone and effect a truly poignant detention while at the same time making her a better Occlumens.

Occlumency wasn't just about hiding the mind, but the heart as well. She knew that now. It was something Harry, thankfully, had never been able to do. In fact, it was that very inability that made him so powerful. Not just anyone could cast a Patronus that could fend off a hundred Dementors…

After a moment, she realised she was still sitting on the floor, and that Professor Snape was still standing in front of her patiently. She wouldn't hug him, but she did extend her hand in a silent bid to help her up. After a moment of consideration, he reached for her proffered hand, pulling her to her feet. She didn't let go immediately, instead pumping it once in a quick but unmistakable handshake.

Not wanting to make the moment too meaningful, she turned immediately and left for Gryffindor tower.

SS

He didn't offer her tea, he didn't want to comfort her at all. She needed to be hard. Her softness, her kindness, could turn into a liability later on. Yes, it was a shame to try and ruin something good and pure, but it was war, and there were casualties of every sort. Even innocence. Perhaps especially innocence.

Not that he considered Granger truly pure _or_ innocent. She had, after all, lit his robes on fire, helped a convict escape capture, caused irreparable damage to a classmate's face when said classmate tried to reveal information about her secret group, led a Ministry official into the Forbidden Forest under false pretences to bring said woman into harm's way…

Severus was certain the list went on.

He hoped that this would be a lesson that would stay with her.

HG

As she'd arrived well before midnight, she found the boys still up and waiting for her. Noting the telltale signs of crying, (her splotchy face and inability to stop hiccoughing) both Harry and Ron rose immediately from the sofa in front of the fire and came to her.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

"What's that git done?" demanded Ron. Both boys looked worried and incensed, and Hermione felt touched and loved by this show of concern.

They led her back to the sofa and sat back down, the two of them lending very sympathetic ears to her detention. She told them about it, and despite her efforts to the contrary, she began to cry again. Not sobbing, but she couldn't stop a few tears from trickling down, and the tightness of her throat made it difficult to get out more than a few words at a time, especially when remembering Dobby's reaction.

This not being what they had been expecting, they felt wrong-footed and didn't know what to say, so they settled for awkward shoulder pats.

"It'd be funny if she weren't so upset about it," Ron whispered to Harry, obviously thinking she couldn't hear.

"Harry, please could you tell Dobby and explain things to him? Tell him I'll knit him a new cap, or jumper, or tea cosy. Anything he likes, just let him know how awful I feel, and that I hope we can still be friends?"

"Sure. Tomorrow after—"

"Now?" she pleaded. She wanted to stop Dobby feeling guilty as soon as possible. She knew the elf blamed himself for her terrible behaviour, and she couldn't stand him thinking it was his fault.

Snape had forbidden her apologising to the elves, but he hadn't said anything about someone apologising for her, so she seized the loophole gratefully.

"Uh… yeah. All right. Could use a bit of a snack anyway," he said, getting up from the couch. As no one was in the common room but themselves, he removed the Invisibility Cloak from an inner pocket and flung it around himself. "See you later."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Don't mention it."

The portrait hole swung open and closed again, seemingly of its own accord, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the common room together.

While part of her was pleased when he draped his arm around her to let her lean on his shoulder, another part wondered who cuddled with Snape when he needed comfort after returning from having to do horrible things he didn't want to do.

Actually, she didn't wonder. She knew the answer.

No one.


	11. The Beginning

_**Last time**_

_The portrait hole swung open and closed again, seemingly of its own accord, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the common room together._

_While part of her was pleased when he draped his arm around her to let her lean on his shoulder, another part wondered who cuddled with Snape when he needed comfort after returning from having to do horrible things he didn't want to do._

_Actually, she didn't wonder. She knew the answer._

No one.

**Chapter Eleven: The Beginning  
**

"I had someone apologise for me," she whispered to him smugly on her way out of Potions class the next day. She only just restrained herself from adding, 'So there!'

Yes, she acknowledged last night that he'd made his point. Well, she could make points, too, and she did, not even breaking her stride as she followed the boys out of the dungeons.

SS

He wouldn't begrudge her that. If he had a loophole that allowed him to apologise to all the people he'd hurt as a Death Eater, Severus might take advantage of it. But, of course, he didn't, so there was no point in thinking more on it.

He wiped the board clean, without a wand as there were no students to witness it. He tried to keep the extent of his magical abilities a secret, lest the Dark Lord or other unfriendly wizards find out and want to remove him for being a threat. Peter Pettigrew had the safest position. He didn't have to worry about anyone coming after him, his cowardice and weakling status was a protection of sorts. No one bothered with him, because he was practically a non-entity. He didn't induce fear into anyone.

Still, Pettigrew wasn't safe from everyone. Severus had been planning the rat's death for years now. He'd fantasised about killing the traitor in various ways. Severus thought it would be most satisfying to kill Wormtail with his own bare hands. Squeeze the life out of him, perhaps bash his head into the floor, or wall, if they were standing. He'd love to hear his skull crack.

Severus had killed people before but he'd never truly enjoyed it. He thought he'd relish murdering Pettigrew. It was all _his_ fault.

He was brought out of his murderous mood briefly by his fourth years entering the class, only to have it brought back 20 minutes later when Eoin McEwen melted his cauldron. He'd only just managed to clear away the noxious substance the boy had created before it harmed other students.

At times, Severus felt his job as Potions teacher was secondary to keeping the dunderheads from killing themselves, leaving him with the urge to do it himself.

The trying day turned into a trying evening, as he was summoned just as he sat down to dinner. He was late as he had to go back to his rooms, get his robes, and then get out of the castle and grounds to Apparate to Malfoy Manor.

Severus was surprised to see Draco there, though naturally he didn't show it. He certainly didn't show his dread at seeing Charity Burbage among them, or above them, rather. Spinning slowly in a state of unawareness, the Muggle Studies teacher of Hogwarts was the obvious centrepiece, yet no one, save Draco, looked at her. Severus shook his head at the boy's inability to control his reactions; no doubt the Dark Lord could see how squeamish the Malfoy heir was. He would know that Draco could never kill the Headmaster, and yet he would send him anyway, not really expecting that he would complete his mission.

But this was not the place to be thinking about Albus Dumbledore, so he turned his thoughts to Burbage as he listened to his master go on another one of his pureblood supremacy speeches.

How had she been taken? Surely they hadn't infiltrated the castle to get her, for if they had that power, they would have gone for Potter or the Headmaster. No, she must have been taken on some visit to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. One thing was for certain, weekends to the village would certainly be cancelled after this.

His full attention was brought back to the meeting as Bella, flustered, angry and embarrassed, denied any relation to Nymphadora Tonks and her crossbreed son, vowing that the metamorphmagus, the werewolf, and their spawn, would be killed.

Knowing how serious vows were, Severus made a mental note to inform the Headmaster, so that he might warn the Lupins. Not that Severus would mourn their loss, but he knew that the Order couldn't afford to lose any more people, low on numbers as they already were.

"Severus, you would be good enough to see that Draco makes it safely back to the castle, wouldn't you?" said his master at the end of the meeting. "We'd hate for something to happen to him."

He nodded. "Of course, my lord. What shall I tell the Headmaster?"

"You might explain why Professor Burbage won't be present for her lessons," he said in that high wheezy voice of his, the humour in it underscored by unmistakable traces of fury. "And suggest that he not attempt to fill the vacancy."

Severus bowed again and turned to his student. "Draco," he said, indicating that they were leaving.

They boy said absolutely nothing to him as they left his family home, only stopping once for him to be sick under the rose arbour. Severus seemed to be making it a habit to be in the company of vomiting students.

Draco still refused to confide in him about his task, despite Severus' best efforts, so it was a quiet walk back to the castle once they'd Apparated to Hogsmeade. As a teacher and Head of House, he didn't need Filch to let them in. Severus escorted Draco all the way to the Slytherin common room before heading up to Dumbledore's office.

Albus' expression grew grave, but he thanked Severus just as politely as he always had, as if he'd brought back some useful intelligence rather than unwelcome news.

"Go and rest now," the Headmaster had told him. As if he could.

Severus snorted bitterly. There was no rest for the wicked. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight, not after having seen Charity being slowly devoured by a struggling but persistent Nagini, determined to swallow her whole.

He'd never liked that snake…

Severus stalked back to the dungeons; knowing neither his office nor his bedroom could provide what he required.

He needed to brew, to distract himself, to accomplish something good so that in some way, he might try to balance (in his mind, if nowhere else) the day's events. He had to do something that made him feel less a Death Eater.

.

HG

.

Hermione roused slowly from sleep at first, then when she realised what had woken her, she shot right up, quickly grabbing her wand and casting a lumos to read the charmed sickle.

_Get down here, we have work to do. _

She didn't resent the summons, quite the contrary. Any time Snape was willing to work on a potion that would hopefully save Harry's life, she'd be grateful for the opportunity, no matter how inconvenient the timing.

She threw on robes over her pyjamas and pulled on shoes (appropriate footwear was essential in brewing; in case of sloshing, one didn't want to lose any toes) and headed for the dungeons, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and trying to make herself fully alert before she arrived.

She must have failed in her attempt because the moment the Potions master saw her, he snapped, "If I'm not sleeping because of this, neither should you."

"I'm not complaining, sir," she assured him.

He was very short-tempered, snapping at anything and everything. Every suggestion she made, he'd instantly shoot down with a biting insult.

If this had happened earlier in the year, she might have fled the room weeping at his fierce bellowing. However, she braved it, and kept her reaction to those painful remarks inside, trying not to show him that they got to her. It was late, he obviously hadn't had much sleep, she told herself, making up more excuses in her mind, all the while trying to keep her own voice steady and professional when she spoke to him.

Snape calmed down after a while, not saying much of anything at all, going so far as to not even voice what he wished her to give him. He would merely hold out a hand, leaving her to guess what he wanted. Logically, she knew what he would likely need, so she supplied whatever ingredient or utensil she herself would want if she were doing the main brewing. Judging by his behaviour, she'd got it right every time. She felt especially proud when she produced the correct knife, when there were six available from which she had to choose.

He seemed to need to be constantly doing something, a feeling to which Hermione could easily relate. When their potion was set to simmer, he was off preparing ingredients for another, often working on several different cauldrons at once. Hermione had to respect how even in such a distracted state as he was, he could still keep several different projects going on at once. Granted, she wasn't without multitasking abilities, but still, she enjoyed seeing it in other people.

It was twenty to five before he finally dismissed her, looking exhausted and about to pass out himself but altogether much better than he had at first.

She left, saying she hoped he got some rest, and returned to Gryffindor tower with the full intention of going back to bed and sleeping through breakfast and first period, which she thankfully had free.

She doubted Snape was as lucky.

.

"Hermione!" came an urgent shout from below. Recognising Ron's voice, she jumped from her bed and flung open the dormitory door, looking down the stairs at the boys in the common room.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, the unhappiness that she'd been awoken ahead of schedule outweighed by the seeming exigency of the situation.

"You missed breakfast and Dumbledore's announcement. Professor Burbage is dead. The Muggle Studies teacher," he panted. "Killed by Death Eaters last night."

"Killed?" she repeated needlessly. She'd heard well enough, she just didn't want to accept it. She shook her head. "How? Surely they couldn't have got to her in the castle?" she asked. Unless of course, the Death Eaters had had inside help. Had Snape…?

"She was taken from Hogsmeade when she was out doing some shopping," supplied Harry. "Come up to our dorm, we'll talk more."

She nodded, descending the girls' staircase and ascending the boys' after them.

Once they had comfortably situated themselves on Ron's and Harry's beds, they continued. "Bit frightening, that they can strike so close to Hogwarts."

"I think that was the point," said Harry through clenched teeth. "It was in the morning Prophet. So you know the Death Eaters must have leaked it themselves. No one else could have known so soon."

"Who wrote it?" Hermione asked, though she had suspected that almost everyone at the Daily Prophet was in Voldemort's pocket.

"Not Skeeter," Harry informed her, knowing that she must have been wondering. "Don't know the name, probably a false one anyway." He tossed her the folded up morning edition. Hermione unfurled the pages and scanned the article.

"Frank Tattler," Hermione drawled, reading out the author's name. She rolled her eyes. In the wizarding world, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between a clever nom-de-plume and an actual name.

.

No matter how concerned and curious Hermione was about the Death of Professor Burbage, she didn't mention the subject at all when Snape summoned her two nights after the murder. He carried on much the same as he had the last time. When she checked the Prophet the next morning, she found that there had been another attack by Death Eaters.

It wasn't until the third occurrence that she realised what was going on.

** '**_This is Severus Snape's version of post-traumatic cuddling,_' Hermione couldn't help but think. Just like she had done with Ron after that horrible detention.

The fresh mud on his shoes proved that he'd very recently come in from outside the castle, his mood and lack of fresh ingredients proved that he hadn't been out harvesting. Hermione deduced he must have been to a Death Eater meeting, and he'd returned and summoned _her_. _Again._

Hermione felt inordinately pleased and honoured by this. Yes, he was being perfectly beastly to her, constantly snapping and making sharp remarks, but she knew why, and that made all the difference. He wanted her there, on some level. Their potion discussion and ingredient preparation could have taken place at another time, this wasn't a scheduled brewing. He'd simply called her there because he wanted her there.

He needed a cuddle.

Granted, the Potion master's version of cuddling was angrily grinding bits of dead creatures into powder with mortar and pestle, but the fact remained, he had found someone to do it with.

And to think, the night of her detention, she had thought he didn't have anyone.

'_He has you, Hermione Granger_,' she thought determinedly, and continued grinding with renewed vigour.

But she knew she wasn't really that special to him. He simply didn't want to be alone and she was the only person he could legitimately bully into spending time with him at three in the morning.

Hermione got the hang of dealing with him in those moods. She slowly eased him into discussion, and after a time, the tension visibly eased from his hunched shoulders and his voice took on that natural rocking motion, like a boat on a quiet sea. It lulled.

Her own voice, when she added her thoughts and asked or answered a question, sounded shrill in comparison, so she tried to temper it. She spoke more softly (as they were close enough that she didn't need to use full volume, anyway,) and tried not to speak too quickly, as she was wont to do.

After long periods of both speech and silence in equal measure, he was almost serene. Hermione grinned in accomplishment for something she probably had little to do with, but was eager to take credit for, nonetheless.

"Thank you," she told him as she was leaving the dungeons in the predawn grey, not exactly sure why she said it but certain it was the right thing to do. She didn't want him to feel like he was imposing on her, not that he would feel guilty about it. Still, she wanted him to know she appreciated the time she spent working with him, and that it really was no trouble, despite the odd hours. She'd do the same for the boys.

She smirked, imagining Snape's reaction to being likened to Harry and Ron in any way, even if the comparison was a favourable one.

.

"How'd it go, mate?" Ron asked anxiously. He and Hermione had been waiting (not so patiently) in the common room while Harry went to visit the Headmaster to ask him about a few weighty issues, not least his impending death.

After a quick glance to make sure they were alone, Harry strode toward them, looking none too pleased. "I asked him if he was dying and he just said something like, 'I am 116 years old, Harry… I was never going, nor ever wanted, to live forever.' Wouldn't answer any of my questions. Just dancing around the issue, really."

"Did you tell him you'd seen the pensieve?" Ron enquired.

"No. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know," Harry replied bitterly.

"Perhaps he doesn't want to talk about it," Hermione put in feebly.

"Well, yeah, that's understandable, but he has a responsibility to let others know so they can… so they can…" Harry trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Prepare themselves?" she suggested.

"Sure," he said with a frown, then mumbled under his breath, "not that I'll ever be prepared for this."

She would never tell Harry this, but she had her doubts as well. Voldemort was an immensely powerful wizard, how could _anyone_ prepare themselves to face him?

The ache never really left her these days, that constant soreness in her chest born of utter fear for Harry, for the wizarding world. Constantly working, constantly doing something helped, but in the end she knew that everything really depended on Harry, which was why she needed to make certain that the Horcrux was removed from him. Even if she did succeed, she worried that Harry wouldn't. Even if Voldemort was without all his Horcruxes, Harry's chances against him in a regular duel didn't inspire confidence.

She thought he ought to be practicing more, sparring and duelling, but it would be only too obvious that she was hinting at the final confrontation with Voldemort.

She frowned. Since when had subtlety in her methods become such a concern? She was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake. "Well, you _do_ know, and that's what matters. So whether the Headmaster decided to tell you or not, you can still do your best to practice and prepare yourself. Perhaps we could start using the Room of Requirement again."

"Yeah, I'll just pencil that in between lessons, homework, Quidditch, and finding and destroying Horcruxes, shall I?" he replied with pardonable sarcasm. Hermione was still of the opinion that being Quidditch Captain was an unnecessary burden, but it was the sole responsibility in his life he actually enjoyed, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

"I know, but this is important. We need to find the time."

"Well, why don't you make one of your handy little colour-coded schedules, then?" said Ron with a sneer.

She was about to reply that she couldn't possibly know when Harry would be off hunting Horcruxes with the Headmaster when she realised Ron had been patronising her. It hadn't been overly cruel, but he hit a nerve.

Incensed, she clipped, "Maybe I will!" That hadn't been her plan but she would just to spite him.

"Go on, then. Telling other people what to do is what you do best."

"Fine. What are your suggestions then. Nicking more treacle from the kitchens? Very productive, Ronald."

"At least _I'm_ not ordering my friends about like they were house elves!"

_That _did it. "Fine!"

"Fine!"

She slammed the book that had been open in her lap and stomped up the stairs to her dormitory, fighting her twitching fingers which wanted nothing more than to send a flock of angry paper birds at him. Though Ron had the uncanny talent of getting on her nerves, she should have remained calm, but instead, she had lost her patience. How was it that she would allow herself to be bawled at for half an hour by Snape, but ten seconds of Ronald Weasley drove her over the edge?

.

After she'd calmed down sufficiently, she went back to the common room to try and patch things up. They couldn't afford a rift in the group at this juncture, and if it meant shaking hands and saying '_Pax'_ then that's what she'd do. She wouldn't like it, and it might still be tense between them for a while, but she'd put up with Ron for Harry's sake. He needed the support of both of his friends right now, he didn't need to be a referee between them.

When she went back down they were gone. No doubt they'd gone to bed. Hermione sighed, and pulling spare parchment towards her, she began to draw up a schedule using a quill and ink pot someone had been too lazy to take with them after an evening of homework. For all that it had been a mocking suggestion on Ron's part, it wasn't a bad idea. Even if Harry didn't use the schedule, it couldn't hurt to make it.

Fifteen minutes into her task, she heard an insistent tapping on the window, alerting her to the snowy owl's presence.

"Hedwig," she greeted curiously, letting the bird in. In her talons she clutched a note, hastily scribbled on a torn-off bit of parchment. She recognised the handwriting immediately.

_Don't tell Ron, but schedule in some time with Ginny, if you can. ~Harry_

Hermione grinned widely. Of course she had gathered a while ago that Harry and Ginny were together, and had allotted an hour a day during the weekdays, and even more time on the weekends for them to have some alone time.

_I already did. ~HG_

She sent Hedwig back, knowing what a short flight it would be. She went back up to her room in much better spirits. Harry was angry and sour, yes, but not at her, and it warmed Hermione's heart to see something so normal and wonderful happening amid all the chaos around them. While everything was falling apart, something beautiful, at least, was growing. She was happy for Harry, and especially happy for Ginny, who had finally obtained her heart's desire.

Sighing and lying back on her bed, she wondered if she would get _her _heart's desire. After picturing Ron's face, she frowned, suddenly questioning if that was, in fact, what she wanted. Of course this inability might be a result of his infuriating behaviour that night, but it hadn't been the first time she'd been unable to fantasise about him. She closed her eyes and concentrated. At that moment, her strongest desire wasn't a person, but an idea. An end to the war. A _favourable_ end to the war. She didn't think she could concentrate on anything else until then. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't conjure up romantic scenarios with her and Ron. And she _did_ try. She lay in her bed, trying to imagine dallying with him, but all she could think about was how she should be doing something constructive.

It was almost a relief when she felt the sickle burn.

SS

She slept late Saturday, taking an early lunch in the kitchens instead of eating in the Great Hall. Harry went with her.

"Of course I knew, Harry," said Hermione, finishing her pudding.

"Of course. Our little know-it-all," Harry agreed, grinning. Harry had a way of saying it that made it more an endearment. With Ron, it was always a negative thing. With Snape… well, she really didn't know, but if she had to guess, she'd say it was tolerant resignation.

"I can understand why you want to keep your relationship with Ginny quiet, though, so that's why I haven't said anything."

"Appreciate it. Not only would it put her in a more dangerous position, but I don't think I could handle fighting with Ron just now, on top of everything else." Harry passed his hand through his messy hair in his habitual way when distracted or nervous.

"I have your schedule made out, if you want to see it," she offered timidly. She knew Harry had acknowledged that she would make one, but she was uncertain whether it had been a joking bid for peace or a genuine request.

"Yeah, let's have a look."

She handed it to him and his eyes roved over it lazily before putting it down.

"Did you see what's scheduled last thing every night?" she asked, a bit nervously. This was the first step in implementing her plan.

"Hopefully bed," said Harry, bringing up the parchment to inspect it again.

"Just before bed," she amended.

Harry's head shot up, his eyes meeting hers. "Occlumency lessons."

She nodded. "I know they didn't go so well in the past, but I thought if we tried together, it might not be so…" _Disastrous_, she finished in her head. "I already know a little. I've been practicing. Occlumency can be self-taught, you know."

Harry nodded, seeming to like the idea of learning it himself much more than learning it from Snape, though unbeknownst to him, he _was_ learning it from Snape, albeit indirectly. Since Sirius' death, Harry had admitted that he should have learned Occlumency properly, but neither he nor the Potions master were willing to continue the lessons.

It would do for the first few nights, but Hermione would eventually need to learn Legilimency in order for Harry to actively practice.

"Ron, too," she stated.

"You think?"

Hermione nodded. "He _is_ privy to all our plans, so it'd be good for him to learn it as well. We also don't want him to feel left out."

Harry nodded, and turned back to his schedule, not needing her to go into more detail on that score. Ron was their friend and it didn't matter if he truly needed the lessons or not, including him was important else they risked another Triwizard Tournament-style fiasco, when his jealousy had cut communications for far too long.

"You've given me more time with Ginny than you have for studying for the N.E.W.T.s," Harry said, astounded and touched.

"Well, in these times, one needs to have one's priorities straight," she said awkwardly. The swot in her had protested that nothing apart from the war could be more important than the N.E.W.T.s, but she knew what Harry needed.

Hermione was pulled into a hug and she accepted it gratefully. Her throat tightened. If Harry failed in his task, at least his last days would have been filled with pleasant memories of Ginny, rather than preparation for exams he'd never take or make use of. She held him tightly, willing him to win, willing him not to give up, and at the same time willing him to be just Harry.

They didn't hug often, only after dramatic events, but despite the lack of danger or injuries, dark creatures or Death Eaters, the embrace didn't seem out of place. She could feel just how desperate and afraid Harry was by the way he clung to her. She could feel every insecurity as if it were her own, she felt the pressure the whole world was putting on him, an entirely average 17 year old boy, and felt her eyes prickle with tears.

Harry had just started rubbing her back comfortingly, as if to console her as well as himself, but suddenly he stiffened, and hastily pulled out of the embrace. She followed his stony gaze to the entrance, only to see Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his habitual sneer affixed in place.

"It seems I've interrupted something," he jeered, and started to back out of the room.

Hermione hastily wiped at her eyes. "No, please, we were just leaving," she said gesturing for him to stay. He must have wanted something to eat, she didn't want to deprive him of that.

"No, I think not. I've rather lost my appetite." With another condescending glower, aimed particularly at Harry, he swept out of the kitchens.

Harry blinked after him. "He didn't take points. Or assign detention," he said, bewildered.

Hermione frowned. If the professor was too preoccupied to take points from _Harry Potter_, then he must be unimaginably distracted. It was anyone's guess what was going through his head at any given moment.

"Right." Harry forced a smile and looked back at his timetable. "It seems we have class in 16 minutes, so…"

"You _did_ do your Charms essay, didn't you?"

"Of course." He patted his bag, before removing a crumpled bit of parchment 12 inches long. His writing was obviously overlarge to compensate for the lack of material, the same way Hermione's penmanship was overly small, to compensate for her excesses.

She quickly glanced at her watch. If she was quick about it, she could correct his paper before he handed it in…

SS

"I've started teaching Harry Occlumency," the girl stated once she put down the stirring rod. "But there's only so far he can go without active practice."

Severus saw where this was going, but intended to make her say it. Slytherins always made the other side speak first, which wasn't difficult with Gryffindors as they were simply incapable of keeping their mouths shut.

"Mm-hmm."

She cleared her throat, and straightened primly. "I've been coming along well with Occlumency and would like to start on Legilimency."

He lifted a scornful eyebrow as if to say, 'you think I will let you practice on _me?_'

She huffed. "Don't look at me like that. You can keep out the Dark Lord, you can manage a complete beginner."

Severus did not, of course, explain that Potter had somehow crashed through his barriers. She miraculously didn't know and he wasn't going to tell her. He was rather surprised Potter hadn't immediately returned and recounted the entire incident. The fact that he hadn't, that he'd kept it from his closest friend, made Severus grudgingly admit that the younger Potter was not, in fact, _wholly_ like his father.

She had crossed her arms over her chest and was looking down at him, a remarkable feat for someone of shorter stature.

"You don't think it would be more realistic if you performed it for the first time on Potter? If you are too proficient, he might wonder whose mind you'd been practicing on."

"I'm not asking you to train me to be a master, I'm asking you to help me not addle his brain on a misguided first attempt."

"You don't want to harm Potter's mind but you have no qualms 'addling' mine," he drawled, unimpressed.

"Don't make it sound like I'm using you like a lab animal. I just have more faith in your mental stability."

He smirked and she covered her mouth with her hands before dropping them again and pointing angrily at him.

"That's _not_ what I meant!" she protested. "I meant your mind is stronger, you've had more practice and you can protect yourself better than he can, in case I don't get it right."

He stared at her impassively.

"Just once or twice?" she begged. He loved it when Gryffindors resorted to begging. "Just to make sure I have the incantation and technique correct? I won't go digging, I promise."

As fun as toying with her was, he had to admit it would be a bit of a problem if the Boy-Who-Lived's brains were decimated by faulty experimentation. Lily's sacrifice would be for naught and Dumbledore's plans would fail as well. No, however confident he might grudgingly be of Granger's abilities, she _had_ turned herself into a cat before. Her magic wasn't faultless and this was not an area where one should take anything for granted. It had been he, after all, who had lectured her on the dangers of complacency.

Rather than verbally acquiesce, he began to lecture on the exact incantation and technique in his most deadpan yet condescending voice. It didn't work. She smiled at him anyway.

HG

As she promised, she didn't press for anything, she only glimpsed what he showed her.

All of the scenes were things she herself had witnessed, lectures, for example, past lessons. She grimaced as she watched herself. Her hair really was a horrid mess. And her voice! She realised that it wasn't _what_ she said that annoyed people so often, but the _way_ she said it. She made a mental note to use her 'Snape voice' more often. Slower, lower, smoother.

However, all that was forgotten when she revisited his instructions on how to prepare the Wolfsbane potion. He stayed with that memory for a long time, as if to emphasise the point. Was that a hint of some kind? Or maybe it wasn't a hint of _any_ kind. Perhaps yet again, she was reading too much into his actions when it was just the teacher in him, taking this opportunity for revision.

She pulled out for the final time, confident that she wouldn't do Harry any irreparable damage. Snape was scowling furiously, but she ignored it. She knew it was not a pleasant feeling to have someone other than yourself in your head; she didn't need him glaring Crucios at her to know it hadn't been happy hour at the Hog's Head for him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked sweetly.

"Out," he commanded, pointing an imperious finger.

She had expected this and was satisfied with her evening, so she went cheerfully, waving (perhaps cheekily) in farewell.

SS

_'That wasn't so bad, was it?_' Severus mocked, doing his best swotty Granger voice once the girl herself had left.

She'd kept her word, she hadn't gone looking for anything, and he could have stopped her if she had, but that didn't change the fact that she'd been in his head. His innermost sanctum and personal torture-chamber. The only other people who had ever been in his mind were his masters. The Dark Lord and Dumbledore.

He wanted to furiously scour out his mind like he would a contaminated cauldron, removing all traces of her presence in it. It grated his nerves, made his teeth grind, and, needless to say, put him in a very foul mood. At least there was justification for the Dark Lord and Dumbledore's presences; the girl's was just needless intrusiveness. He fed the Dark Lord disinformation to keep his cover as a Death Eater. And letting Dumbledore into his mind had convinced the Headmaster to trust him and send Lily into hiding.

Not that it had mattered, in the end…

.

HG

.

Hermione had never really thought she'd find herself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom again, but somehow they ended up there. The Room of Requirement had been in use, and refused to open. She saw the spark in Harry's eye that heralded yet another misadventure. He was suspicious of everyone who used the ROR except for himself and the DA.

She hadn't admitted to taking the map, but when he suggested he get it to watch and see who came out into the corridor, she had to own up/come clean/etc.

"I actually have it with me. Sorry, I meant to tell you. I thought it would make things easier getting to and from detention if I knew who was about."

Harry, trusting soul that he was (with his friends, at any rate), didn't question her reason. They merely trudged off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, concluding it was the least likely place they'd be interrupted by unwanted company, and opened the map.

He spent a few minutes staring at it before Ron assured him that with only one person able to practice at a time, he could keep an eye on the map while Harry was Occluding and vice versa. Reluctantly, Harry tore his eyes away and they got started.

"All right, you've been practicing clearing your mind."

He nodded.

"I'm not going to dig around for anything, I'm just going to brush the surface. I want you to wipe your mind clean, like we've been doing at night. Hopefully I won't see anything."

Harry looked a bit nervous and she tried to reassure him. "I know there are probably things you don't want me to see. I promise I'm not going to look for anything embarrassing. I'm not Professor Snape, Harry."

She felt guilty for painting the professor in a negative light, but she needed the contrast to get Harry to feel more comfortable.

"You're right. Sorry. No, I trust you."

She nodded. "Ready?"

He shrugged and smiled. "Not really."

Ron snorted and Hermione suppressed a grin. "Let's give it a go, anyway, shall we?"

Harry nodded and, wand in one hand, she took Harry's chin gently in the other. She briefly thought that while Snape had done it to her, and she'd done it to Harry, Hermione hadn't touched Snape when she had been practicing. It had been only eye-contact. Brushing those thoughts aside, she concentrated on the task at hand and whispered, "_Legilimens._"

His mind wasn't clear at all. It was dwelling on the impassable entrance to the Room of Requirement. She sighed, and pulled out.

"Harry…" she began.

"I know, I know," he said, running his hand through his hair in a frustrated fashion.

"Perhaps you should try to clear your mind for a few minutes while Ron has a go."

"Then who will watch the map?" he snapped.

She held up two placating hands. He'd never be able to Occlude if he were in a temper, that's why it hadn't worked when Snape tried to teach him.

"You're right, I forgot," she said gently. "Ron will keep watching while you lie down for a minute and close your eyes. Try to clear your mind and we'll try again. All right?"

Harry looked at Ron, who nodded, before closing his eyes and leaning back.

"Deep breaths," she whispered, and Harry breathed in before letting it out in a gusty sigh.

.

They had been at it for nearly an hour, taking turns, both boys trying to clear their minds but with little success.

Harry had just begun to manage it when Ron's loud bray crashed around them, breaking the peaceful silence. "Malfoy!"

Any and all concentration fled and Hermione left his mind, knowing it was a lost cause now. Harry scrambled on all fours towards Ron, looking at where he pointed.

"I knew it!" he whispered fiercely. "I just knew it. He's up to something," Harry said with certainty. The last time Hermione heard that they'd ended up in the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed a Horcrux, yet hadn't learned anything of Malfoy's motives. It had been swept away in light of their victory.

"Where's he going?" she asked resignedly, but ridiculously curious despite herself.

"Dunno, back to Slytherin common room, perhaps," said Ron seriously. "No, wait. He's stopped to talk to someone just outside the door."

By this time Hermione had crawled over as well, all three of them huddling over the map.

_Stephen Cornfoot_.

A horrible part of Hermione already believed Cornfoot was guilty of something. The fact that he was talking to Draco didn't sway her, even though it was odd because they were on opposing Quidditch teams and didn't usually get along. What really made Hermione think that they were conspiring was the fact that they were both purebloods. It was horrible to judge someone based on blood, and she felt ashamed about it, but the hunch wouldn't go away. Her guilt only lessened when Harry and Ron voiced this very same opinion aloud. Ron was pureblood. If he was saying it then it made her, the Muggle-born, feel less guilty about accusing Cornfoot on the basis of his blood status.

The other, more logical part of Hermione, reminded her that it might not have been a friendly talk at all. Perhaps they were discussing Quidditch or class, for all she knew, they might have been insulting each other.

"Perhaps he knows something. Perhaps we could trick him into telling," said Ron, and Hermione was vividly reminded of her second year, when they'd brewed Polyjuice in that very same bathroom to interrogate Malfoy, posing as his fellow Slytherins.

"How could we possibly get him to tell us anything?" Hermione asked. She knew Cornfoot as he was in her most of her classes. Ron and Harry knew him as a chaser on the Ravenclaw team. In class as well on the pitch, there was only rivalry and competition between them. No way in.

"Well…" Ron said, gesturing ambiguously. "You're a girl. Use your wilds."

"It's _wiles_, Ronald, and that won't work, as I haven't got any to speak of."

She turned to look at Harry who was grinning apologetically in agreement. No, he didn't think she could seduce anyone either, but she was flattered that Ron thought she could. Perhaps he saw something attractive about her after all.

She also wanted to note that if he really was in league with Malfoy, he certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with a Muggle-born like her. She didn't say this, however, choosing to give the boys the benefit of the doubt that they could reach that conclusion on their own.

"Just get close enough to use Legilimency," Ron wheedled.

Hermione paled. "I can't," she sputtered.

"Sure you can. You've done it to me and Harry, right?"

"That was for _practice_. For you to learn Occlumency. I wasn't stealing information from you."

"Er. My. Nee…" Ron whined. "This is important, and only you can do it. Just use your _wiles,_" He slowed down to make sure he got it correctly that time. "To get him alone somewhere, then use Legilimency."

"But I haven't any wiles!" she insisted. She didn't know the first thing about seducing men, how could she possibly lure a handsome pureblood Quidditch player into an empty classroom?

She looked to Harry pleadingly, her last hope for vetoing the scheme. But she knew when she met his eyes that she'd lost. Harry wanted information too badly not to try.

"If it doesn't work, we'll come up with something else. This is the quickest and easiest plan and won't take a month to brew some obscure potion."

"But Harry, I _can't_." She didn't know if she meant use Legilimency to steal information, or if she meant woo a man, but he assumed she meant the latter.

"Talk to Ginny. She might be able to give you a few tips," Harry suggested, only the ghost of a blush colouring his cheeks.

"Oi!" cried Ron, taking immediate offence. "You calling my sister…" He struggled for a word that was both sufficiently inoffensive and yet still got the point across. "… Wiley?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all!" said Harry, shaking waving his hands quickly in front of him in negation. "It's just… well… She's a girl and… she… I don't know."

If Hermione hadn't been worrying about what she had to do, she might have been hard-pressed to stifle her snickers at Harry's obvious discomfort.

"You're right," Harry added. "Lavender would be a much better choice. She's got loads more experience."

"Lavender Brown?" Hermione asked incredulously. 'The cow that stole Ron last year?' she couldn't help but add in her mind. She'd seen Lav-Lav's _technique_ plenty, and was not impressed.

Ron looked equally uncomfortable at the thought of Hermione taking lessons from his ex-girlfriend and said, "Just do the best you can with what you've got, Mione. You'll be fine." He nodded at this, as if to assure her, but it seemed like he was convincing himself that that her best would be good enough. He did that a lot, she noticed, nodding when he was unsure about something. She wanted to inform him about that little tell of his, but didn't, because she found it oddly endearing.

"All right, Ron," she said, having resigned herself to it. She'd take his advice and do the best with what she had.

In fact, she would do what she always did.

She would use her head.

.

In the end, Hermione did approach him, quite successfully, but not using her 'wiles.' She'd very discreetly asked him for help with Transfiguration, hinting that she didn't want anyone else to know she didn't understand. Who wouldn't be flattered, after all, to have Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, to ask them for help? Quite a coup indeed, especially since Ravenclaw was bitter that a Gryffindor continued to make the highest marks every year.

He had agreed, if only for the chance to gloat about it later, but the moment the door to the unused room closed behind them, he'd been Confunded, his recent memories perused in short order and sent back to the hall, wondering vaguely what he'd been doing for the past ten minutes, before shuffling off to dinner.

.

Hermione continued to sit in the classroom, quite alone but for her thoughts, which weren't the best company just then. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself.

She'd been wrong after all. It seemed that blood prejudice worked both ways. Cornfoot was no more a Death Eater than she was, and had nothing at all to do with Malfoy.

Strangely, her first thought was to tell Snape. She'd abused her abilities and she felt incredibly guilty. But was it abusing her ability? Legilimency wasn't _exactly_ illegal, but enough people had been arrested for the misuse it. Was using Legilimency to learn the truth really all that much worse than Polyjuicing oneself to do the same? Yes, she decided. It was different. It was an assault of the worst kind, invading every sense of privacy.

But was it justifiable? She had learned a little about what Malfoy had been doing, even though Cornfoot was an innocent witness to it all. Did that excuse her invading his privacy?

How many bad things could you do with the excuse that it was for the greater good before you have to answer for them?

She thought the Potions master might be able to answer that, but did she really want to confess her sins to him? He'd either understand perfectly, or he would punish her horribly for abusing the knowledge he gave her. And to spy on Malfoy, no less. Hermione still couldn't pin down the exact relationship between that Slytherin and his Head of House, but Snape might not appreciate her nosiness on the subject.

Still, she was at odds with herself. She'd done plenty of nasty things in the past; she'd punched Malfoy twice, hexed Marietta Edgecombe, sent Umbridge to the centaurs, she'd even hexed Snape when she thought he'd been about to hurt Professor Lupin, but when she had done those things, she hadn't felt any compunction about it at all.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. She _had_ panicked slightly in the Shrieking Shack for having attacked a teacher.

Deciding she would first talk to Ron and Harry, she went to dinner. To her surprise, Harry wasn't there, nor was the Headmaster, which put her on high alert. She sat next to Ron, who was laughing with Seamus about something. Her arrival, though, distracted Ron from whatever conversation he'd been having and he turned to her interestedly.

"Well?" he whispered.

"He knows nothing," Hermione reported. "Only that he's seen Malfoy there several times before. He was suspicious that a Slytherin continually be so far away from the dungeons and so close to Ravenclaw tower. That's all."

Ron grimaced. "Well, at least we know he's up to something, if he keeps going back there."

Actually, they had known he was up to something since he started spending time in the girls' toilet, something Hermione reminded herself to look into. "Where's Harry?" she asked.

His voice, if possible, went even quieter. "Message from the Headmaster. They're going after another Horcrux, I think."

Hermione's chest tightened. "Oh." _Oh…_

Ron's hand found hers under the table and gave it a squeeze. "It'll be all right, Mione."

Merlin, she hoped so.

.

"What are _you_ doing back here?" Myrtle asked petulantly. "Didn't want to talk with me before when you and your friends were napping on the floor."

Hermione winced. Yes, she had rather ignored Myrtle earlier. She should have spoken to her then. Oh well.

"I just came for a visit, Myrtle. You know, without the boys. Can't talk properly with them around, can we?" she ventured, hoping to strike up a rapport, from one misfit Muggle-born girl to another.

"Talk about what?" she asked, suspicious but intrigued.

"Oh anything you like," prompted Hermione. If Myrtle spoke first, talked about whatever she wanted, she'd be more open to answering questions than if Hermione immediately started an interrogation.

"What…" the ghost began hesitantly. "What do you think of my spectacles?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Erm. I think they're lovely, Myrtle. Very intellectual."

"Olive Hornby was always teasing me about them," she admitted sadly. Hermione already knew this, however.

She waved it aside easily. "She was probably just jealous of your intelligence, Myrtle." Hermione had heard this often enough from her mother during school. "I get teased about a lot of things. My hair, my teeth, my…" She hesitated.

"Your what?"

"My blood," she finished, not having suspected the conversation would turn so serious so soon. "People who feel threatened by you will use anything they can to try to make you feel inferior to them. Olive Hornby was just a trumped up cow who wanted to belittle you so she could feel better about herself."

"Who's been making fun of you?" Myrtle asked sympathetically.

This was her chance. "Well… Draco Malfoy, actually."

"Draco?" she asked, sounding shocked.

"You know him?"

Myrtle nodded, then shook her head. "He'd never do a thing like that."

"I assure you he would," Hermione said sternly. "He's called me mudblood. Several times."

Hermione knew _that_ would get to her. Myrtle had been killed by the Basilisk for being a Muggle-born, though she had only learned that five years ago. "He has?"

She nodded. "At every opportunity. He hates Muggle-borns, he thinks they're scum." That might have been a direct quote from Ron, she mused.

Myrtle look conflicted. "But… he's such a sensitive boy." At this, a disturbingly dreamy look passed over her face.

"Malfoy? Sensitive?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"Oh, yes. He comes here often to see me. We have a lot in common," she reported smugly. "He cries, too, you know."

Hermione's head was spinning. Malfoy weeping in the girls toilets? Things were getting odder by the moment. "What for?" she asked.

Myrtle gave a moue of sympathy, followed by a long sigh. "His father, mostly, and being made to do things he doesn't want to do."

"What things?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from asking.

"He never went into detail. Only cried about how he couldn't do it, and yet he couldn't afford not to, either."

This was a development she didn't care for at all. It changed things, if Draco Malfoy wasn't as willing a participant as they thought. Whatever he was scheming, he was reluctant about it. Was it pressure from Lucius? What _was_ he supposed to be doing anyway?

Now she _had_ to go to Snape. He would be the only one to make some sense out of it. He'd probably throw her out of his office after castigating her for interfering in things that were not her concern, but at least he could do something about it…

.

She'd spent a good ten minutes pacing outside his office that night, debating whether or not to go in. The decision was quickly taken out of her hands when she saw a group of Slytherins about to round the corner on the Marauder's Map, a few minutes after curfew.

At his command to 'Enter', she did so. He sat at his desk, marking papers.

"I've done something rather unforgivable," she blurted out. Well, that was one way of introducing the topic.

He didn't even bother looking up. "I doubt that." He slashed out an entire line of the essay he was working on with an angry flourish. It made gooseflesh stand up on her skin and she shivered. '_I hope that's not _my_ essay,_' she thought.

She shook her head, chiding herself. There were other more important things at hand.

There was no point in asking him not to be angry with her, so she simply barrelled on. "I used Legilimency on someone today. Not Harry or Ron."

His quill stopped but he didn't look up. She was thankful for that.

She explained how they had wanted to practice in the Room of Requirement, but found it locked, how they had gone elsewhere to practice but kept an eye on the map to see who it was, only to realise it was Malfoy.

"We saw him talking to Stephen Cornfoot just outside. We thought it might have been a rendezvous; that he might know something about what Malfoy was up do."

This time his head did come up. "Well?"

"He didn't. I, er… managed to get him into an empty classroom and used Legilimency. I only learned that Malfoy has been going up there a lot lately."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "If that's all, Granger…"

"There's more," she said hastily.

He huffed impatiently and opened his hand in a gesture for her to continue.

"Remember a few weeks ago? The reason we went down the Chamber of Secrets was because we saw Malfoy leaving the girls' bathroom. I went and spoke to Myrtle and she…" Despite thoroughly disliking Malfoy, it just seemed wrong to tell another person this. "He goes there often… _crying_."

"Crying," he repeated dubiously.

She nodded. "Myrtle says he talks about being forced to do something he doesn't want to do, but can't afford not to. And I thought… well, it doesn't make any sense to me, but I thought maybe you…"

She gestured hopelessly, waving around the still-active Marauder's Map as she did so.

"Maybe I…" he repeated patronisingly. "Get to the point, Granger."

She scowled. He was hiding something. This information _did_ mean something to him but he didn't want to show it. Fair enough. She'd talk about the other thing.

"I wanted you to advise me. I was asking myself how far is too far? At what point is 'the greater good' no longer a viable excuse for doing bad things? Where do you draw the line?"

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. The silence lengthened for so long it became terribly awkward, but she was determined that he should answer, or at least say something. Hermione refused to talk more and make an even bigger fool out of herself.

When he finally spoke, his voice was as intense as it was quiet, and it was probably the most personal comment Snape had ever made to her.

"You're asking _me_?"

Her mouth went dry and her palms began to sweat; she was either breathing too much or too little, she couldn't tell. '_Look away!_' she begged him, because she certainly wasn't capable of it. Perhaps it _had_ been horribly foolish, and insensitive to boot, to ask a man who was working as a Death Eater how far was too far. It was like someone in a bathtub asking a man drowning in the ocean, 'How's the water?'

Hermione wished she could have seen that _before_ she came. She could have saved them both a load of embarrassment.

She dropped her head, ashamed, studying the map so she wouldn't have to look at him. Her brows knitted together in a frown, then rose in surprise.

"There he is again!" Malfoy had just emerged from the Room of Requirement, as had someone else. "Who's Yaxley?" she asked curiously. That wasn't a student, was it?

Snape stood up with such celerity that Hermione retreated a step or two in shock. He snatched the map away and studied it, opening it even more. His mouth was moving as if reading, or speaking to himself but Hermione overheard the last two words. "Astronomy Tower."

He shoved the map into her chest, pushing her back with such force she thought he must have left a hand print there. As he carried on to the door, Hermione only just managed to prevent the map from fluttering to the ground before following him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying to run after him, jumping in surprise when his office door banged closed behind her of its own accord.

"You are going back to Gryffindor Tower and you are staying there!" he growled. "Now."

Her steps slowed, then stopped, and she simply watched him run off. She'd never seen him, or anyone, move that fast before. She wasn't sure his feet were even touching the floor.

She blinked a few times in utter stupefaction before looking back to the map again. Many strange names she didn't recognise were at large in the corridors, but there was one that stood out particularly that didn't trouble her memory at all.

_Bellatrix Lestrange._

"Astronomy Tower," she murmured to herself. "He said 'Astronomy Tower.'"

She searched the map for it. "Harry!" she said, startled. The Headmaster was with him, and now the names of several people, including Snape, Lestrange and Malfoy, were going up after them.

She shook her head. Death Eaters in the castle. She certainly wasn't going to stay in her dormitory.

Hermione fumbled in her robes and withdrew the DA galleon, hoping against hope that some people still wore them. Harry needed all the help he could get.


	12. Alone

**Chapter 12: Alone **

Her words echoed in his ear.

_ "__How far is too far? At what point is 'the greater good' no longer a viable excuse for doing bad things? Where do you draw the line?"_

Severus Snape had no line. The evidence lay sprawled and broken at the foot of the tower. Or if he had ever had a line, he had crossed it so long ago that it was too far distant to be seen anymore. "_It is done_," Severus said to himself in disbelief. He didn't feel it yet, but he knew he would. He'd thankfully cling to this numbness for as long as possible.

As if in a trance, he left with his fellow Death Eaters. The castle was rallying against them; soon the other professors would come after them, wands blazing. Severus knew that despite the ability of the Hogwarts staff, they still might not be a match for the Death Eaters. Severus wasn't in a hurry to find out either way. No one else need be hurt tonight.

No one else…

He managed to put one foot in front of the other as he ushered a bewildered Draco out onto the Hogwarts grounds, the ice-cold knot in his stomach a continued welcome presence like the chill in his mind, not fogging it because he saw everything with an unusual clarity, but keeping him thankfully detached.

Severus almost made it out without cracking, without _feeling_, but one voice brought reality crashing down around him.

Potter.

The boy's vibrant green eyes flashed in rage and disgust and Severus felt a familiar stab in his heart. _Her eyes._ That old wound still bled in the dark, if pressed. Long periods of time could pass until he almost forgot how painful it was to think about her, but every so often he would catch a glimpse of the young Potter's eyes and Severus would despair all over again.

There had been a time in his early twenties when he practically thrived on that pain, the wound being so fresh and vivid in his heart and memory, but in time he'd withdrawn further into himself, trying to push away everything that made him feel to the darker unused parts of his mind.

And now he had an even weightier death of someone greater than Lily on his hands.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed his mind was that Albus had loved the boy, more than he had ever loved Severus, that was certain.

"Coward!" Potter cried. "Fight me!"

His ice dam cracked. "Don't call me coward!" he shouted back in childish fury. Severus had just faced his ultimate fear, being sucked back into the Death Eaters for good, with no one on his side, no one who believed in him. He was entirely alone and he had known it was coming and faced it, instigated it, even. He risked knowingly ripping his soul freshly in half. How dare he call him a coward? He was furious with the young boy, so loved by Dumbledore and by Lily. This arrogant and undeserving whelp that shouted ignorant things. Severus? A coward?

He deflected all the curses aimed at him but cast none of his own. Severus wanted to shout back at Potter that he was doing all this for _his_ sake, for his mother's, but knew that he could not. Dumbledore had said that no one must know. He had to be accepted fully by Voldemort, and he couldn't be sure that the boy was practiced enough in Occlumency to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind at night. If Potter, or anyone, knew of his continued loyalty, his life was forfeit.

No one must know…

HG

No one in the common room believed Professor McGonagall when she told them the news; even her splotchy tear-stained face was mulishly discounted in the effort to ignore the truth. Hermione's disbelief differed from the rest of her housemates, as did Harry's and Ron's , no doubt. They had been expecting the Headmaster to die, just not like this.

She'd been so certain Snape had been on their side, and yet Harry vowed to have seen the Potions master personally cast the killing curse.

Dumbledore, gone.

Snape, a turncoat.

It was unbelievable.

She sat dumbly among her fellow sniffling Gryffindors, though she didn't cry.

Neither did Harry.

Ron's face was as stony as she'd ever seen it. Grief, it seemed, came second to outrage, which was momentarily muted by shock.

Yes, she must be in shock as well; that would explain it. No wonder she couldn't think properly. No wonder she hadn't reached some sort of logical conclusion as to how she hadn't seen this coming.

Nearly everyone stayed in the common room for the rest of the night, either out of fear or sorrow. Either way, the togetherness seemed to make it better. Yet strangely, Hermione wanted to get out, be on her own. She couldn't think for herself with such an oppressive group mentality suffusing the common room. It was difficult to hear her own thoughts when everyone else's was so obvious and overpowering.

"Come on," said a voice in her ear that she instantly recognised as Harry's. He gripped her upper arm tightly and dragged her gently to her feet and across the room to the portrait hole. Ron fell in step on his other side and together they strode out of the common room.

Despite the fact that it was long past curfew, no one questioned him. He was Harry Potter. And everyone knew his task had just got exponentially harder.

SS

The Dark Lord was surprised and pleased to hear the 'good news.' The height of his excellent mood was almost as frightening as the height of his temper tantrums, in that he seemed even more unbalanced and unpredictable than ever.

Severus had known, had told Dumbledore that the Dark Lord was poised to take control of the Ministry the moment he learned of the Headmaster's demise, and sure enough, he lost not a moment before implementing his plans, sending off Death Eaters to various tasks to see to it that he was the de facto Minister of Magic by morning.

As they trailed out obediently, the group dwindled until only he, Draco, and the siblings Carrow remained.

"As the Ministry is taken care of," his master began in that grating high voice of his, "it is time to turn our attention to Hogwarts."

Dread began to fill Severus, slowly and steadily, like sand falling from the head of an hourglass. If they were discussing the school, why was he there? Surely…

"The Board of Directors is already being replaced with… _better_ candidates. And as the position of Headmaster is now available, I thought you, Severus, deserved the job."

The hourglass broke within him, sending all the sand into his belly at once. No! He didn't _want_ to be Headmaster. He'd imagined that after he murdered Albus, he'd never have to set foot inside the castle again, but to live in very same place as the man he'd murdered? Use his rooms? Sit at his desk? Assume his position in some perverted patricidal farce? There was no torture more complete than that.

While the Dark Lord had been practically ebullient in his praise of him that evening, Severus had to wonder if his master still had (justifiable) doubts as to his true loyalty, and if this was a jab at him, a punishment to keep him miserable and low.

Whether that had been his intent or not, it would prove true, in any case.

Severus was desperate to escape this post, avoid Minerva and the rest of the staff, run away from it all and leave the school under the control of some other Death Eater when he remembered the children. He had to protect the children. At least if he were in control, he might keep things from getting completely out of hand.

Severus bowed deeply, accepting this boon of the Headmastership of Hogwarts with profuse thanks he didn't come close to feeling.

That too-high voice continued on, giving Amycus Carrow the position of Potions master, as Severus was no longer available.

The current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a Magical Law Enforcement employee on loan to the school from the Aurory, would be immediately sacked and there would be no replacement.

The position had been cursed, and Severus suspected that the Dark Lord still coveted the position so jealously that he wouldn't even allow his own followers to take that from him, and refused to let anyone at all escape the bane that afflicted the post. Besides, the Dark Lord had pointed out, what need had they of defence now? There was no point in training the children, giving them skills and knowledge they may one day try to use against them.

Alecto Carrow was given the position of 'Magical Hierarchy' professor. Muggle Studies was done away with absolutely; the only important bits would be incorporated into the new course, which would educate the young minds on the way of magical society, and just where Muggles and Muggle-borns ranked. It was important, he informed them, that everyone know their place. To ensure this, the new class would be compulsory for all students in all years.

"That hoofed half-breed will be sent back to the forest where he belongs," the Dark Lord continued. "And dear Sybil will resume teaching all of Divination."

_Dear __Sybil__. _Dear Sybil indeed. The Dark Lord liked Trelawney because she had first made the prophecy that the Dark Lord believed forearmed him against Harry. He wouldn't cut _that_ class in hope of yet another discovery.

Only utter self-control stopped Severus from sneering in disgust at the woman's name. He truly did rue the day he'd heard that damned prophecy in the Hogshead. Without it, perhaps none of this would have happened.

"The Half-Giant is never to set foot into the castle, but stay on the grounds with the other beasts as well…" the Dark Lord added, to Severus' chagrin. He might not be fond of Hagrid, but he was one of the few people Severus respected. He had rarely seen such unwavering loyalty.

Severus imagined what sort of chaos was being unleashed in the castle now. No doubt the whole Hogwarts population was simultaneously mourning their Headmaster, and hating Severus.

There would be daily attempts on his life when he returned, of that he was certain.

He almost welcomed the idea, even toyed with the notion of letting himself be had, but for the promise he'd made Albus. Severus knew he'd have to be particularly vigilant around Minerva and Hagrid. Minerva might have the sense not to try, else she'd deprive the students of her protection, for the Dark Lord would surely kill her, leaving them without a guardian. Hagrid, on the other hand, was incapable of such forethought, and therefore it was the half-giant Severus would most carefully have to watch.

How many students would have left by the time classes resumed? How many more would flee when they learnt that he was the new Headmaster? Would there be any Muggle-borns left? The Dark Lord would surely consider it no loss if there weren't.

All the other posts would remain, as well as the teachers who occupied them. Severus wouldn't question the Dark Lord's decision, but he couldn't help but wonder why his master would want the likes of Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick, staunch Dumbledore supporters, in the school.

Despite the fact that he hadn't used Legilimency at all, the Dark Lord seemed to know his thoughts.

"Because the high level of education must be maintained. And they are the best… Of course, Severus, I expect you to assist Amycus settle in to his post as new Potions teacher," he hissed, pleased with his plans.

Severus bowed again. "Of course," he intoned dutifully. _Of course…_

.

He returned to Spinner's End that night, thankful he didn't have to play unfortunate host to Wormtail. He didn't know where the rat was staying and he didn't care. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Actually, when the enormity of everything that had happened sank in, he decided that being alone with his thoughts was the very last thing he wanted. He might even have preferred to have Wormtail there as a distraction, to redirect his fury and misery towards someone else, someone other than himself, as he so often did with his students.

_His students_.

He was to be Headmaster…

It still seemed so very wrong, and every ounce of him rejected the idea, apart from his reason, which was already resigned to the fact, knowing the futility of dissent.

Until then, he just had to wait until word came that he was to report back to Hogwarts. He couldn't even begin to imagine the changes there would be. He would no longer teach Potions. That was simultaneously a wound and a relief. He couldn't imagine Carrow doing the job properly, and wouldn't be surprised should there be at least three students sent to the Hospital Wing in the first week.

It would be strange not to brew. It was his solace, his only comfort. What would he have now? His nights wouldn't be filled with simmering cauldrons but… what? Haunting the halls?

Severus groaned at a sudden thought. He desperately hoped that Granger had the sense to remove their potion from the dungeons and hide it somewhere else, before he was forced to 'discover' and destroy it. He doubted Amycus had the intelligence to ascertain what it was, or would be, but the Dark Lord, should he look through the _new_ Potions master's mind, very well might.

He prayed that Granger would immediately assume, just as everyone else had done, that he'd betrayed them all, and would rush to save her precious potion. But why would she? She didn't know he would return with more fellow Death Eaters in tow. She didn't know that it was even in danger.

.

HG

.

Many parents owled the Deputy (soon to be) Headmistress McGonagall, informing her that they would be retrieving their children and taking them out of Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley had made a serious plea for Ginny and Ron to return to the Burrow, but both redheads had staunchly refused to leave Harry's side. Mrs Weasley wrote back that Harry could come too, and Hermione, but all four children insisted on remaining.

At least until Dumbledore's funeral.

Classes had been cancelled for the rest of the week, during which time Harry had recounted the whole story of the locket he and Dumbledore had retrieved the night of Snape's betrayal.

It wasn't until Sunday evening that Professor McGonagall came to the Gryffindor common room and informed Hermione that there was a meeting for the staff, and as Head Girl, she was also to attend. The Board of Governors had met and apparently made some decisions about staffing and a few other changes to be made. Understandable, in Hermione's opinion. They'd need a new Muggle Studies and Transfiguration teacher, and after the breach of the castle, it was only natural that more security measures would be taken to insure the students' safety.

She followed Professor McGonagall to the Great Hall, where they met up with other professors on their way. Together, they entered the room behind the Head table. Any chatter that had been taking place instantly died at the sight before them.

There stood Severus Snape, flanked by two people whom Hermione didn't recognise but were unmistakably Death Eaters. She knew McGonagall was just as surprised to see him as Hermione was, for she pointed an angry finger at him and shouted "You! You _dare…_"

"It's not a matter of audacity, Professor," Snape said coolly. "It has been decided by the Board of Governors that I shall assume the role of Headm—"

"Outrageous! This is utterly outrageous! I refuse to believe that they would ever willingly agree to this! You, Dumbledore's murderer! You deserve a place in Azkaban! Not the Headmaster's office!"

"There have been a few changes in the Board of Governors," he drawled casually. "And the Ministry. You'll find they _both_ fully support my appointment."

"The Ministry?" McGonagall repeated weakly, her fist, clenched so tightly around her wand, beginning to shake and droop. The Head of Gryffindor blanched so suddenly that Hermione moved to catch her should she faint, though her own knees weren't doing much better. His simple statement said enough. Voldemort had the Ministry now too. She needed to tell Harry. She needed to talk to the boys.

She _needed _to hear more.

She listened as Snape spoke about all the changes, the Carrows (as she had learned they were called) all the while keeping their wands trained on the room in case anyone decided to attack. It was obvious that such action was on several people's minds, but amazingly, no one had any violent outbursts.

Hermione was too befuddled to be violent, though Merlin knew she had her violent moments. She couldn't help just staring at the dark wizard before her, wondering how she could have been so wrong about him, how _Dumbledore_ could have been so wrong about him. Snape was a powerful enough Occlumens to keep out Voldemort, or… she had thought he was keeping out Voldemort. Perhaps the one he'd truly been blocking all this time was Dumbledore.

It was a moment before she realised he was staring at her. She immediately looked away, not wanting him in her head.

"And of course, we will need to appoint a different Head Girl. The current one is… unsuitable."

"Unsuitable in what way?" sputtered McGonagall, but Hermione knew why. Draco, who hadn't seemed surprised to see Snape, didn't look as smug as she expected, and had remained silent and nearly sullen the whole time. He didn't look Hermione's way once, not even when she was mentioned.

Snape didn't answer, instead continuing with, "Someone… from my own house, I think. Miss Parkinson will do."

"Hogwarts can do better than a Mudblood," agreed Alecto, confirming everyone's silent suspicions.

_Breathe.__Breathe_, she told herself. It wasn't the 'mudblood' comment. She'd heard that too many times for it to have any effect on her. No, what gripped her so powerfully was the sudden realization. She had to leave as quickly as possible to deal with it, if it hadn't already been dealt with by other parties. She certainly hoped not.

Knowing it would appear to everyone to be cowardice, she ran from the room. She could hear the pleased cackles of Alecto Carrow. She didn't care. She kept running, needing this time while all the Death Eaters were in the meeting to do what needed to be done, hoping it wasn't too late. She sprinted to the dungeons, praying it wasn't already gone. She nearly burst into tears of relief when she saw Harry's Horcrux potion, untouched, undamaged.

She knew that Snape or the Carrows might ask her what she'd done with it, demand she give it over, but she certainly wouldn't do that without a fight. But she still needed a way to move it, and a place to move it to. The Room of Requirement wouldn't do, everyone knew of it now. All the Death Eaters had come through it to get inside the castle. An unused classroom? Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom? He had already caught her brewing there, surely he wouldn't think her foolish enough to use the place again…

She could ward one of the cubicles with a powerful notice-me-not charm, on the off chance that anyone should actually need to _use_ Myrtle's bathroom. Now, getting the cauldron out of the dungeons with no one seeing, _that _might prove to be the problem. Even with the stasis charm in place, it wouldn't do to jostle the brew. This would take quick and careful planning. It was a good thing that quick and careful planning was what Hermione Granger did best.

.

Dean and Seamus had gone, leaving only Harry, Ron and Neville in the 7th year boys' dormitory. After the meeting and securing the potion, she'd gone upstairs to locate the boys. Seeing that they were all sitting at their beds quietly doing their own thing, she tiptoed to Ron's bed first. Harry and Neville noticed, but didn't remark.

Ron, looking interested as to what could bring her to his bedroom, sat up and leaned toward her. "What's up, Mione?"

She sat down next to him, trying to use that calming voice she'd been practicing, and whispered so Harry couldn't hear. "I have bad news, I'm afraid. I will need your help to tell Harry."

His expression wilted from hopeful to crestfallen.

"I really need you not to react, Ron," she pleaded quietly. "I need you to stay calm for Harry, can you do that?"

Ron nodded. The redhead was not known for his even temper, and was just as likely as Harry to fly off the broom-handle when he heard upsetting news, but she was counting on him to try, just this once, to be calm and help her.

He squeezed her shoulder in show of support, and she sighed. She didn't really want to tell Harry this but it was better done here than in the Great Hall the next morning. Who knew what he might do, and what punishment they might come up for it.

Nodding silently, she rose from the bed, Ron following.

"Harry," she began gently, debating whether or not to sit next down on the bed, kneel on the floor, or stand.

"What?" he asked sourly. He'd been in a bad mood for days, for understandable reasons.

"I'm… I have some bad news."

"Oh? Bad news, is it? Have you come to tell me my parents have been murdered? No, wait. You're going to say that Sirius is dead. No, no, wait, Dumbledore's been killed," he said sarcastically. "No, it's got to be worse. Don't tell me, I've got it. The Chudley Cannons have lost, again?"

She worried her bottom lip for a moment, looking to Ron for reassurance. He nodded encouragingly and she turned back to Harry.

"Pr— erm. Snape has come back to Hogwarts. He's… he's the Headmaster now."

Ron's mouth fell open as he gaped, while Harry sat up instantly, a mad gleam in his eyes. "That's the best news I've heard all week," he growled, grabbing his wand tightly in his fist and making to stand. Hermione and Ron threw themselves on top of him to stop him.

"No, Harry," Ron shouted.

At this, Neville stood up hastily from his bed. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeing Hermione and Ron struggle to keep Harry from running off on some unprepared murder attempt.

"Snape's back," Ron informed him through grunts of exertion. "He's Headmaster now."

Poor Neville grew very white indeed, his legs trembling for a moment before they collapsed under him, and he perforce sat back down on his bed. He looked ready to vomit. Snape had always been Neville's worst fear, and that was before the boy knew he was a Death Eater and Dumbledore's murderer. Hermione couldn't even imagine the fear he now experienced.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione groaned, pulled out her wand and said, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Harry fell back onto his bed, flat as a board. Oh, but his eyes were fierce with fury, no doubt at Hermione now as well as Snape.

"Harry, you've got to calm down and think. You can't go haring off like that. What if that's what they _want_ you to do? Who knows what the consequences of your actions could be?" Hermione had half a mind to send her Patronus to Professor McGonagall to ask her what they ought to do. She was a senior member of the Order, they could defer to her. Was Harry even safe at Hogwarts? Should they leave?

She voiced this opinion and Ron agreed, so she sent her silvery otter to the Transfigurations teacher.

It took some time before the venerable Scotswoman arrived, and when she did, her face was a splotchy red, either from temper or tears. Hermione rather hoped temper, as the thought of her mentor weeping was too unnerving to contemplate. She only took the spell off Harry once she arrived, hoping that her presence as an authority figure would have some reasonable influence on him.

"What do we do, Professor?" Hermione enquired after expressing their concerns. "Is it even safe for Harry to stay here?"

"I'm not running away. Not when Snape is right here where I can get him," he insisted.

McGonagall frowned, patting Harry's hand twice in a conciliatory but brisk way. "Believe me, Potter, your feelings are more than understandable, but going after Severus Snape would be unwise."

Harry might not survive the duel and he needed to stay alive to defeat Voldemort, Hermione translated handily in her head.

"So what then?" asked Ron.

"I have an idea," Hermione put in.

Ron and Harry, though grim-faced, couldn't help but smirk slightly. "As per usual," they both said together.

.

SS

.

Severus made an imposing entrance the next morning in the Great Hall, as he took his place in the Headmaster's seat. He was surprised to see how uncharacteristically the Gryffindors reacted, they were angry, yes, but not shocked. They didn't stand and shout and make silly threats or vows they couldn't hope to follow through on. Severus rather suspected that they had been warned beforehand, been told not to bray, roar, or complain, and certainly not cower in their seats in fear. It was clear that several _wanted_ to shrink into their seats, but the sheer solidarity they shared, unified in their hatred and outrage, kept them silent and indignant. In fact, after briefly watching him and listening to the announcements, they all silently ate their breakfasts without so much as another glance at in his direction. Not one of them would meet his eye. No doubt Granger had told them he was a Legilimens, and warned them to be on their guard against him.

Actually, it was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen from a group of Gryffindors, usually quick to anger and rush in with brash action. Severus rather suspected who had forewarned them and coached them in their reactions. The only Gryffindor who had known ahead of time. The ex-Head Girl. She ignored him just as studiously as her house-mates. Potter and Weasley sat equally quiescent, but didn't manage to carry off the same aloofness. Both were flushing with their suppressed anger.

Still, there was an unmistakable air of conspiracy about the Gryffindor table, much like Potter's fifth year with Dumbledore's Army. It had been Granger's idea the first time as well, her organisation that had brought it about, but Potter had been their figure head, naturally. Oh yes, Severus had expected trouble, but not quite on this scale. He knew it was only a matter of time before the other houses caught on. Severus groaned inwardly at the amount of insubordination he'd have to think of punishments for. He dreaded more what the Carrows would come up with.

As the Heads of Houses handed out the new class schedules, Severus observed the other tables. Slytherin was just as quiet as the Gryffindors, but far more guarded. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw clearly had no foreknowledge of the development and were visibly terrified.

He had been eyeing a particular 7th year Ravenclaw when at once, every single Gryffindor rose from the table, and marched out of the great hall, almost in orderly ranks. Trust Godric's House to make such a dangerously ostentatious display. A quick glance at Minerva found her smiling in bitter triumph. Other teachers too were trying to contain their expressions of pleased pride. The Carrows, however, looked furious at this defiance, and knew they would report it to the Dark Lord, who would in turn demand that the instigators be made a thorough example of.

Severus escorted Amycus to the dungeons for his first class, ostensibly to show him the stores and classroom layout. They passed several students on the way, each one stepping aside to give them an over-wide berth. They stopped at the stores first. He began removing the protective wards, explaining the list of the brews needed for the Hospital Wing, when Severus thought a very rude string of words in his head. The full moon was approaching and he wouldn't be able to devote nine straight hours of his time to brewing without being noticed. The dungeons weren't his anymore. His place was in the lofty tower that was the Headmaster's office. The Room of Requirement was a possibility, but the Carrows knew of it now, as they'd been part of the team Draco had allowed to infiltrate Hogwarts. Besides, his being missing for nine hours wouldn't go unnoticed.

Thinking quickly, he thought to change the wards protecting the potions cupboard back to the way they had been five years previously, when Granger had stolen ingredients for a Polyjuice Potion. Thinking better of it, he changed it to the same wards he'd used earlier that year. If he used it from the specific time she'd first broken in, she'd recognise that he was letting her in, and he couldn't have that. This way, she would simply think he hadn't changed them since the last time she'd left money for the ingredients she stole. Let her think it was oversight on his part.

Hopefully she'd remember the werewolf and once again break the rules, Severus sighed just thinking the phrase, 'for the greater good.'

Next they continued to the dungeons. Severus opened the door to the classroom, gesturing for Amycus to precede him. "I trust they shan't give you too much trouble," he said, bowing out of the room.

He followed his feet, which took him swiftly down the corridor to another old dungeon room. One glance told him all he needed to know. He sighed.

_Good girl._

She'd moved it. The Horcrux potion had been removed since the staff meeting the previous day.

.

Severus had never been more miserable. He was subjected to taunts, hisses, and dirty looks from the students and teachers alike, all of whom were as deliberately uncooperative as possible. If the students were gathering around Granger and Potter, the staff was orbiting around Minerva McGonagall. They weren't blatant in their rebelliousness. Quite the reverse, they were remarkably subtle, but still impossible to miss. He hated it most of all when one of them would visit him in his office, on the pretence of some formal complaint or other, giving him more work to do for little cause, all the while trying to meet the portrait Albus Dumbledore's eyes. He feigned sleep, or was conveniently gone from his frame whenever these situations arose, which was frequently.

All the other portraits took little pain to conceal how much they disliked him, and whispered among themselves (in his hearing, of course) how unfit he was to be Headmaster, how he was a disgrace to the office and to education at large.

He couldn't even speak to Albus' portrait, for fear that the other former Headmasters and Headmistresses would gossip, go to their other frames elsewhere and spread the word and let the secret out. The rule that the portraits in the Headmaster's office were bound to keep its current occupant's secrets was only an unwritten one. There were not magically bound to silence or to protect his privacy, they merely did so out of respect. To all the other Headmasters but him, of course.

Only Phineas Nigellus Black didn't seem to mind him. In fact, he seemed rather apathetic about political scandal and was ready to take the whole situation for a lark. Severus was bitterly reminded of the man's descendant and _his_ similar cavalier attitude, and couldn't help but resent his only quasi-ally. _Damn Blacks_.

.

Three days later and the potions stores had yet to be touched. She hadn't taken any ingredients needed to brew the Wolfsbane. Severus growled at the child's appalling absent-mindedness. And still he waited for some scheme, some plot to overthrow or attack, but each day passed and it never came. No one would meet his eyes and he couldn't learn what they were planning. So he kept waiting in expectation, waiting for the hit to come…

.

HG

.

"For the last time, we aren't going to _attack_ at all. It's merely to defend and protect ourselves." They were in no position to make any kind of assault for fear that the consequences would be drastic and brutal. No, their system lay in a very solid and steady support framework. They moved about the castle as if they would a battlefield, or in training manoeuvres. They moved as a team, never went anywhere alone, wands out at all times, and always on the lookout and always in formation.

Constant Vigilance, in other words. They weren't frightened little groups huddling together and scuttling from class to class like a cockroach hiding from the light. No, they walked together, almost marched, lookouts from all sides always on the alert. It gave them all a (perhaps spurious) sense of strength and control.

Hermione was waiting for some foul swoop to befall them, but with each passing day, nothing came. It made her all the more wary and guarded. There were only minor altercations. Students subjected to new and unfair rules, or insulted publicly by one of the Carrows.

She was one such student, in fact.

It had been the 7th years' first lesson in Magical Hierarchy, and Hermione was the only full Muggle-born left in the year, as the others, few that there were, had been taken home. So she was made an example of. She was made to sit in front of the class as the model Muggle-born, an example of inferiority. It had been utterly humiliating at first, if she was entirely honest, though she tried not to let it show. It was a comfort to see in _most_ of her classmates' faces, that they didn't believe a word. Still, there were some superior smirks from the Slytherins, and it was only from that house that students raised their hands and offered examples of how she was substandard.

However, Carrow (she didn't, to Hermione's mind, deserve the title, _Professor_) grew incredibly frustrated with her, as it soon grew obvious that she wasn't as slow and dull witted as she wanted her model Muggle-born to be. In fact, Hermione made a pretty poor example indeed, as she had the highest marks in the year. It had been arrogant and unwise to mouth off and point this out to Carrow, for it only earned her a detention and a very public tongue-lashing. Still, it was worth it to see the class' proud triumphant faces when she did. Though Harry, Ron, and Neville looked rather concerned about her upcoming punishment.

_That's right. I'm an insufferable know-it-all. Snape ought to have warned you,_ she thought viciously. Either Carrow would now stop trying to use her as an example, or she would become even more vicious. If that were the case, she'd need to prepare herself for humiliation…

She didn't know how to go about that, and the more she thought about it, the more concerned she became.

.

They all knew that torture had been brought back as acceptable punishments, which was why Harry and Ron were so ashen-faced that evening after dinner. Hermione, throughout the whole meal, couldn't take her eyes off the white scar on Harry's hand. _I must not tell lies._

By this time next day would she have a similar tattoo of _Mudblood_? Or, _I will not talk back to one above my station_? _I will know my place_?

.

Harry and Ron followed her to her detention under the Invisibility Cloak, under strict orders not to interfere _unless_ her life was truly in danger, or someone tried to take her away from the castle. It took some convincing but they finally agreed that even if she were in pain, they wouldn't do anything.

She reported to Filch, as instructed. They were in the dungeons proper, finally to fulfil their proper purpose, to hold and punish prisoners. He stood there next to Alecto Carrow, both grinned when she entered, looking like the cat that got the cream.

She had been expecting Filch. She didn't know Carrow would be there too. She felt suddenly much better knowing that Harry and Ron were there watching over her. She wasn't too concerned about what Filch might do, but Carrow was a Death Eater who certainly had a lot of practice torturing muggleborns…

"Your wand," the witch demanded smugly, her own pointed directly at Hermione's chest. Every instinct in her body screamed in outrage at the idea of handing it over and being unarmed in the presence of a Death Eater. Knowing that while there was one wand was pointing at Hermione, _two_ wands trained on Alecto, she grudgingly relinquished it.

"Come here," he gurgled. "Finally gettin' what you deserve."

She noticed the manacles and with a sigh, presented her wrists. Fighting it would only make it worse.

"No no, girly. Ankles," said Filch gleefully. Yes, she'd heard they used to hang students upside down, though by their toes. With a pang, she remembered how when climbing the rope to get out of the Chamber of Secrets, Snape had considerately transfigured her skirt to bloomers. It was only luck that she'd changed into trousers earlier, for no one would be concerned about her modesty now. She removed her over robes and clenched her teeth as Filch stooped down to cuff each leg above the foot.

Both she and the caretaker looked toward Carrow, expecting her to hoist Hermione magically into the air, but the witch merely shook her head, looking simultaneously annoyed and amused.

"Don't mind me. I'm only here to observe. I'm not to interfere. The Headmaster insisted I let you have the first detention, as it's been such a long time for you, Argus. He didn't want to deny you the pleasure."

She got the distinct impression that Carrow was enjoying Filch's discomfort and humiliation as much as Hermione's. After all, she must consider squibs to be beneath her, just as muggleborns and half-breeds. As he couldn't use magic, he had to crank the pulley manually to raise her up into the air, Carrow gloating all the while. It took him quite a while and he was panting so hard he had to stop and catch his breath several times.

Well, she thought, hanging upside-down with and being verbally taunted was hardly pleasant, but it could have been worse.

Once he'd recovered his breath and brought out the cane, however, she had to concede that it _did_ just get worse.

Strangely, she recalled at that moment Ron's mother telling them a story. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been out for a night-time stroll and Arthur had been caught by the caretaker Apolian Pringle. According to Molly, 'He's still got the marks.'

Somehow, she doubted she'd ever tell _this _story with the same fondness as Mrs Weasley had. Her marks wouldn't be nearly so romantic.

.

"Mione, I'm so sorry," Ron said, truly chagrined, sounding for all the world as if it had been his fault.

"I'm all right, Ron," she soothed him through the closed bathroom door on the boys' side of the dormitory. Actually, it had been because she knew the boys were invisibly watching the whole thing that she'd striven to be as quiet as possible and not cry out. Had she been alone, she was certain she would have shrieked more than she had. Although the fact that Carrow took such obvious pleasure in the gasps and cries of pain she hadn't been able to hold in might have been incentive enough to keep silent. She hated the thought of giving that woman pleasure in any way.

Little splotches of red had bled through her blouse, she noticed when she removed it. Craning her neck to inspect herself in the mirror, she noted that the skin hadn't been broken but in a few places. However, most of her back was bright red, green and purple, darkening every minute. It would be entirely black and blue by morning.

When she came out again, all three boys were standing just outside the door. She lay on her stomach on one of the beds as Neville gingerly lifted up the t-shirt she usually wore under her blouse. There was nothing they could do but the boys had wanted to see the extent of the damage themselves.

"We could go to Madame Pomfrey for some bruise salve," suggested Ron.

"Not now. Not after curfew. Tomorrow before breakfast or during lunch," she told him.

"At least you showed her, Mione," said Neville with a small smile. "It was brave of you."

She shook her head. "It was foolish of me. It was a silly thing to do for the sake of my pride." She'd just wanted to take the witch down a peg. Hermione had succeeded, but had been taken down two pegs herself. An altogether pyrrhic victory, especially considering it would probably only make things worse for her for next week's class.

They decided she would stay in the boys' dorm that night, taking Dean's old bed. Harry, though he had said the least throughout the whole thing, had stayed by her bedside the longest.

Only the candle next to Harry's bed remained lit, as he sat silently next to her in quiet contemplation. Every now and again he'd stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, but otherwise did nothing.

After an hour or so, he stood to leave. "Clear your mind, Harry," she reminded him softly. He couldn't neglect his Occlumency, especially now. She didn't want him dwelling on this.

His lip twitched, though barely, and he nodded, giving her hair a gentle pat before he went to bed.

Only when the lights were extinguished did the tears start to leak out. Not in sadness or because she was painfully traumatised by the experience, but because she had truly wonderful and supportive friends. They would win this war yet…

.

Next day at breakfast, Snape made an announcement about newer, harsher punishments for those who disrespected and talked back to their teachers. It was, they had no doubt, due squarely to Hermione's performance in Magical Hierarchy the day before. "Any student who disregards this will be thrown into the forest during the full moon to be fodder for the werewolves," he threatened, utterly serious.

Hermione gasped, but luckily so did many others. Unlike her, however, they were horrified by this surely _deadly_ punishment. Hermione on the other hand, had been overtaken by surprise. _Remus'__ Wolfsbane potion._

Snape certainly wouldn't be doing it now, so it was up to her.

.

"Blimey! Hermione, stealing ingredients again! You've going to get worse than a caning if you're caught!" Ron said when she set up her cauldron that Friday evening in the boys' dorm.

"I really had no other choice."

"But it's a really difficult potion."

"I've got to try. Harry, owl Remus and tell him not to worry. Even if I don't get it right, I can still try tomorrow night, the moon will still be in the correct phase then." They didn't need to know she'd had previous practice. Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny had all volunteered to help her, but too many masters ruined the potion. She chose Neville to assist, as she was used to partnering him in Potions. He needn't do any more than hand her things when she asked.

"All right, Hermione. Here's the real test," she said to herself as she began to prepare everything. Recalling Snape's lesson about it caused her to stop suddenly and blink.

The memory came back in a rush…

_"Wolfsbane?" _

_"The instincts of a know-it-all can never be suppressed," he lamented. "Yes, it is Wolfsbane, or will be, once finished. You are to pay very close attention, Miss Granger. Very. Close. Attention."_

_"Will I be tested on this?" she asked._

_"Perhaps," he answered vaguely. "For now, watch and learn. If you've learned nothing before, do it now."_

"_Is something wrong? Are you leaving?"_

_"I hope not, but one never knows, does one?" _

That's what he had said to her before he taught her how to brew it. He had known all along that she would one day need to do this! He knew even then he'd kill Dumbledore! But even as a true Death Eater he didn't want Lupin a loose and wild werewolf. Sensible enough, no matter where one's loyalties lay. Although, recalling his lecture in third year and his more recent one on the topic, Hermione gathered that Snape almost had a particular fearof werewolves, but certainly couldn't appear to be helping one, even if his involvement was blatantly self-interested.

Or was it?

Several things slowly began clicking into place.

He hadn't confronted her about taking the Horcrux potion back. He would have known it had been she, by all rights, he should have found her and destroyed it.

He hadn't changed the wards for the potions stores. He hadn't confronted her about the missing ingredients, yet now that she thought on it, he must have known she'd taken them and for what purpose.

He'd all but reminded her himself that morning to brew the potion by singling her out through naming her own offence and the future punishment for it.

Oh _Merlin._

He was _letting_ her do all these things. _Encouraging _her, even.

The memory. The memory Harry had seen in the pensieve. Yes, yes, it all added up. Harry knew Dumbledore was dying from a curse. He'd seen the Headmaster ask Snape to ease (_or had it been end?_) his suffering and Snape had angrily refused. Of course. Dumbledore had _wanted _Snape to kill him! To put him out of his pain! Snape was Dumbledore's man. _Is_ Dumbledore's man, her mind corrected.

Oh. Oh Merlin. Oh… What did she do?

She knew better than to test her theory, if Snape could kill Dumbledore for a cause, presumably to stay in character, he would certainly be able to kill her, a Muggle-born and a student. Yes, she decided, it would be best if she stayed completely out of his way. It was safest for both of them.

But he must want her to continue working on Harry's potion, or he wouldn't have all but given her access to the school stores.

_Slow down, Granger, don't get ahead of yourself,_ she thought. She was leaping to conclusions.

She shook her head, when Neville eyed her questioningly. Right now she had a very important task to focus on that required her utmost attention. She'd think about the rest of it later.

.

SS

.

He sighed in relief when Amycus informed him that the stores had been broken into and ingredients taken.

Not just the Wolfsbane ingredients were missing, Granger was too clever to leave such an obvious trail, so she had stolen a bit of almost everything, making it impossible for anyone (apart from himself) to determine for what potion the ingredients had been taken. Severus noted with dark amusement that she had left no gold behind this time.

But she had done it. Now it was only the small, nearly insignificant matter of her brewing the nearly impossible potion perfectly…

His relief quickly faded and he pinched his bridge of his nose to stave off what was now a nearly constant headache.


	13. The Shift

**Chapter 13: The Shift**

The following month grew more and more stressful for Hermione. As expected, the situation in Magical Hierarchy had declined, or perhaps 'exacerbated' was the better word. Emboldened by Carrow's treatment of her, certain students, namely the former members of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, with the subtle exception of Malfoy himself, treated her worse than ever before. Still, with all of Gryffindor manoeuvring in such a tight unit, the taunting remained only that, cruel words.

Far preferable to hexes.

Outside of 'academic' concerns, there was other training to consider. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville, Ginny and Luna too, made time to practice as they had done in the days of the D.A. And in addition to that, she and the boys continued with daily Occlumency lessons.

Ron might have made fun of her schedules, but he wasn't complaining now, as they fit in homework and revision around their other tasks.

While Harry had secret time scheduled with Ginny, Hermione had secret time scheduled with her potion. Without the help of a qualified Potions master, her confidence in the project plummeted, but she refused to give up.

And yet that wasn't the most trying task. Harry, thinking that all the Horcruxes apart from Nagini had been dealt with, was eager now to find Voldemort and end it once and for all. Hermione had to daily convince him not to sneak out of the castle and try to find the dark wizard. She came up with many excuses, like waiting until McGonagall got in touch with the other Order members so they could organise something together, but she never gave the true reason; that until she finished the potion, all the Horcruxes _hadn't _been dealt with.

The stress of keeping Harry from flying off, keeping up with everything, and keeping everything secret, began to wear on her, as if she were spreading herself too thin, like she was trying to do all she did her third year without the use of a Time-Turner. At least she didn't have Head Girl duties anymore.

In moments of great weakness and desperation, she contemplated going to Snape to beg him to help her, but she refrained. She wouldn't even allow herself to look at him for fear she'd break in her resolution. She knew she couldn't risk it. Nothing but the direst of emergencies would make her take such a dangerous step…

.

SS

.

There was this one thing to be said for not having any allies; it saved Severus the trouble of having to switch back and forth to different personae. It was easier to maintain his character when he played just the one all the time. He fell more and more deeply into his part that only his memory proved that he'd ever been something more than a Death Eater, but even that he began to doubt.

Weeks went by. He told himself he was helping the students, but every excuse he gave to the Carrows to spare wrongdoers the worst punishments had such logic and sense that not even they questioned it. Was it kindness or reason that guided him? He wasn't doing any good anymore. Cut off from all Order members, he had no information as to their moves or what he could do to help. Without Granger, he knew nothing of Potter and his quest with the Horcruxes.

He used to despise having to report back to the Headmaster after every single Death Eater meeting. Even if nothing happened and there was no news to report, Dumbledore had insisted that Severus tell him every detail, as if he didn't trust his judgement on what was important or not.

At least, that's how Severus had seen it at the time. He knew now that Albus was simply had simply been forcing Severus to unburden himself. Severus certainly knew the painful weight of secrets, and so had Albus. Severus hadn't realised until his confessor was gone just _how_ heavy they were.

If he took time for introspection, he'd have to focus on how alone and miserable he was. Luckily, the tasks of a Headmaster were constant and pressing, and gave little time to dwell on anything. As it was, he was only aware of the intangible immensity that constantly weighed on him, making him wearier than he could ever remember. Or perhaps it was simply that it prevented him from sleep. Severus had never been a sound sleeper, but at least he used to manage a few hours each night. Now, oftentimes he wouldn't sleep at all, and several days would pass and odd flashes of hallucinations would dash across his vision.

It made him question his sanity, the reliability of his own mind. Those memories, his only link to a time when he had been one of the Order, were no longer reliable to him. He blearily recalled, one evening, Granger saying that she trusted his mental stability more than Potter's. If that were the case, then Potter would be in a very bad way by now. That thought both pleased and disturbed him.

He was growing dangerously lax in his personal vigilance. His lack of sleep kept him from the necessary alertness, but luckily, no one had tried to kill him that week, else they might have succeeded. It was nearing two in the morning and he was still out roaming the corridors.

He thought the ghost he saw before him was yet another hallucination, for he'd never seen her outside of the toilet in which she had died, but if it had been a hallucination, it had been the most vivid and persistent of its kind, and he floated behind the ghost as she led him to her habitual haunt.

Granger stood there as if she had been waiting for him, and upon his arrival she grabbed him by the lapels of his robes and pulled him into a cubicle. Severus was so sluggish from lack of sleep and shocked at this brazen act that he did nothing for a moment while she warded the stall for privacy.

"I'm stuck!" she said desperately, and continued to explain with all the eloquence of an auctioneer. "I've _tried _to carry on without you because I know you're so busy and can't afford for any suspicions to be raised but I just don't know what to do next. I'm so close, I can feel it! But this batch was contaminated, I don't have enough ingredients to start over and—"

Her eyes were wide and wild, and she still clung to his robes, threatening to rend the fabric. Tick tick tick, the seconds passed as the machinery of his mind worked moment by moment to reach the conclusion as she continued talking a blue streak.

Then times seemed to come to a shuddering halt as it all clicked into place.

Granger didn't think he was truly a Death Eater. She assumed he was still on their side. How or why she'd come to that judgment he couldn't say, nor could he define the emotions swirling within him just then.

All he knew was that Dumbledore had said that _no one_ must know of his true loyalties.

Dumbledore had said…

_Dumbledore had said…_

He withdrew his wand, growling and throwing her off of him so forcefully she fell back and sat down, hard, on the toilet, looking up him with tears in her eyes.

He pushed the tip of his wand painfully into her throat

"Perhaps you mistake me for someone else, Granger," he spat. "I've been _waiting_ for you to do something that would allow me to give you to the Carrows along with _carte blanche _to do whatever they wish. You've been a nuisance from the start. And many here wish _you_ weren't..."

"But... but..."

"But what, Granger?" he asked.

"But I need your help!"

"I'll give you help!" he shouted at her, as cords swiftly slithered from his wand and wrapped around her neck, beginning to choke her as a true serpent would. "The kind of help a Death Eater gives a Muggle-born." He realised only after he spoke that he should have said 'mudblood.'

"But you're not!" she gasped.

"How would you know _what _I am?" he asked, as her face began to turn red. He wouldn't _actually_ kill her but she needed to know that he would hurt her. That he was dangerous. That she shouldn't, _couldn't_, trust him.

"Because I... I... I'm a know-it-all," she said through gasping sobs. Even as she was being slowly strangled her eyes were as determined as ever.

She wasn't going to back down on this, he realised with regret.

Severus growled. The bands around her neck loosened and fell to the floor as he corrected, mumbling, "An _insufferable_ know-it-all."

The girl wiped her face clean of tears and snot. When she reappeared from behind her sleeve, she was smiling up at him.

"You'll help me then?"

.

It was only after he sighed his answer in the affirmative that he felt that he could breathe for the first time since Dumbledore's death. A small amount of that weight had been lifted from his chest.

"I didn't make you wonder?" he asked wryly, desperate for an answer but not wanting to appear so.

"I _did_ wonder if you'd kill me to keep up the facade. You've killed better people for the same cause," she replied matter-of-factly.

Severus wanted to sink to the floor and put his head in his hands. It was easier, somehow, shutting off completely and hardening himself, playing only the role of Death Eater. Now, suddenly, he had this slip of a girl who believed in him. That changed everything. Now he would have to shift back and forth between personae again.

He finally did succumb and slid against the cubical door to sit on the stones below, his knees on level with his chin.

"How did you know?" he asked, his voice deflated and weak. He didn't have the energy anymore. He was so damned exhausted and overcome.

"Dumbledore trusted you," she pointed out.

"So does the Dark Lord," he parried. "Trust means nothing."

"_I_ trusted you," she riposted.

_Touché. _It shouldn't have been a hit, but Severus had to admit himself touched.

"You've never been betrayed before?" he sneered, successfully masking his true feelings.

"If you count Marietta Edgecombe's betrayal of the D.A."

Severus fought the unholy (and long since foreign) urge to snort in amusement. Yes, he recalled the results of Edgecombe's disloyalty. He'd been called in to try to reverse what Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal with normal means, under the assumption it was 'dark-natured magic.'

"You think I'm foolish for trusting you," she stated.

"Yes." It was a dangerous and foolhardy thing to do. What if she had been wrong? "You'll notice no one else did."

"Well," she said smugly. "They don't say I'm the brightest witch of my age for nothing."

"_I_ never said that," he snarled. That title had always bothered him.

"I noticed, believe me. No, it was actually Harry's potion that convinced me. I had my doubts, like everyone else. But your work on it was too sincere, too tenacious, too meticulous. If you knew what I was doing, you had uncountable chances to ruin it, or lead me the wrong way. But I went over it and over it and couldn't see how you might have sabotaged our work. You left the stores open to me, and there was that reminder to brew the Wolfsbane."

He glowered at her. "If you had remembered in the first place, I wouldn't've needed to make such an obvious display,"he said disapprovingly.

"I'm rather glad you did," she said softly. She studied her hands, rubbing one in the other as if massaging away an ache. "It's what made me see." She cleared her throat, as if to stop her speech. "Well, Remus was certainly grateful."

His brows rose. "You succeeded?" He hadn't been able to find out whether or not she had been able to properly brew it.

With a small tired smile, she nodded.

He sighed again in relief. "_Good girl_," he whispered before he could stop himself, immediately wanting to rip out his tongue and beat his head against the wall.

She seemed to understand that he hadn't meant to compliment her, for she negated it humbly. "Not that you weren't a good teacher, but it was mostly luck, I think. The boys weren't surprised, though. My reputation precedes me," she said, with an uncomfortable smile. "People are growing overconfident in me because of you. After the Wolfsbane and Occlumency, I am having a harder time living up to their expectations now." The smile was completely gone now, as her expression wilted into a morose frown.

Unable to tell them that her abilities weren't innate, but that she'd learned them from _him_, she was rising unwillingly in the eyes of her peers. Severus could relate. Everyone thought it had been a miracle that he'd managed to kill Dumbledore, a task many thought impossible, but Severus wouldn't have been able to do it, even if he had wanted to, if he hadn't had the Headmaster's compliance and complicity. Which reminded him.

"And just how did you manage to explain away the fact that I killed the Headmaster?" he asked coldly.

"I think the Headmaster orchestrated this," she said. Severus recalled she had said precisely the same thing the time she spent day locked in his office with him after Albus had finagled sending her back in time in order to keep Severus from overdoing it so he could recover from a rather rough night. "Harry saw a memory in Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve he wasn't meant to. You and the Headmaster were talking about his being cursed. He asked for your help to ease his suffering and you refused. At first, we thought you were just being heartless. It wasn't until later I realised what he was really asking of you…"

He wanted to say something cutting, something that would make her feel small and presumptuous, but he couldn't. Nothing came to mind except the vivid image of Albus crumpling in the green light, like a spindly puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut.

"Just so you know," she continued quietly, not looking at him. "Dumbledore was near death before you even got to him that night. He and Harry had been out to destroy another Horcrux, and from what I understand, the Headmaster took it upon himself to… well, he chose to sacrifice himself in order to retrieve and destroy it. I don't know if that makes any difference, but I thought you should know."

It did make a difference, but Severus was in no mood to examine himself more closely and find out exactly how.

But another Horcrux gone?

That was most welcome news indeed. That meant the only soul-bits left, according to Dumbledore and Granger's suspicions, were in Nagini, Potter, and the Dark Lord himself. Meaning the time the final battle could successfully take place was determinate on if and when they completed this potion. Already, Severus began to formulate ways to kill that thrice-damned snake. How could one poison a creature that was venomous itself? He'd need to study her venom. But perhaps a Basilisk fang would work, if he could but get close enough to use it… No, he'd magically imbue an object with Basilisk venom; that would be safer.

It was with a bit of a shock that he realised that such an object already existed, and laid in a place of honour in his very office. That was a reassuring thought.

Realising that the silence had stretched for far too long while he'd been lost in thought, he said abruptly, "I assume you had a purpose for dragging me in here?"

She willingly followed his leap in topic, and for the next hour, they sat there, she on the toilet and he on the floor, and they discussed the latest developments and hang-ups of the potion. It was the closest thing to 'coming home' he'd felt in a long time, but he knew better than to seek out this feeling again. Eventually the conversation wound down.

They'd fallen into a contemplative silence for a time before Granger slapped her thighs determinately and stood.

"Well, it was good to see you, sir." Her tone implied that she knew this had been a one-time thing, and that they couldn't meet or speak to one another again. Severus couldn't return the compliment, however true it might have been. She extended her hand to help him up. He didn't take it, but she didn't seem offended that he got up on his own.

"If you are in need of ingredients…" he offered, wiping off on his robes whatever grime his hands had picked up from the floor. "Use the sickle to tell me the item and quantity. I'll procure it and use the coin again to arrange a drop-off point where you can safely collect it." It was at least _something_. He had been needing to do _something_, and now he had a duty, even if it was a small one. Still, it made a difference. It wasn't all in his head anymore. He had some proof that he wasn't just a Death Eater after all. He was doing a little good once more.

"What if I have a question?" she asked. Considering this was Granger, there was no _if_ about it. She liked asking questions almost as much as she liked giving answers. "I… I can't do this on my own."

"Use the same method. Do _not_ seek me out like this again."

"Yes, sir."

They stood silently for a moment, having nothing left to say but not knowing how to take their leave. All of a sudden it seemed quite close in there as he became uncomfortably aware that he was, in fact, huddled away in the girls' toilet in the middle of the night with one of his students.

"I'll go out under the Cloak first, make sure the coast is clear. If it is, I'll knock twice," said Granger.

And with that she whipped out the silvery garment and disappeared, though he felt her push by him gently as she exited the tiny cubicle. The door to the bathroom opened slightly, just enough for her to slip out, before it closed again. A few moments later, there came two soft knocks.

He ducked out the bathroom quickly and quietly, immediately taking determined steps in the direction of his new office.

She was under the Cloak so he didn't know if she was nearby and watching, but for once, the thought failed to bother him. Being watched by Granger made him feel watched _over_, rather than watched as if hunted.

Severus shook off the notion as the unfortunate effect of excessive sleep deprivation, and went back to his chambers, where, for the first time in far too long, he promptly passed out and mercifully didn't wake until morning.

HG

.

The first thing she did the following day was to create a list for Snape, a list of everything that needed to be replaced after Myrtle had thoughtlessly flooded the bathroom and completely ruined the potion. After she'd spent a good half hour sobbing and panicking, she'd cleaned up the bathroom to sit and think.

Myrtle had been truly contrite, asking what she could do to make it up to her. Hermione had been about to reply 'nothing,' when a thought had occurred to her…

.

He had looked terrible, she recalled. Myrtle had brought him in, as promised, and after he threatened to kill her and they got to talking, she really looked at him. She'd been avoiding doing just that for so long that she was startled by how much he'd changed in just a month. His face was thinner, more lines creased his brow, and the unmistakable dark smudges beneath his eyes told her that he wasn't sleeping.

Poor man.

He had looked so broken, sitting there on the floor, hugging his knees, almost like a lost child. Hermione had resisted the urge to comb her fingers through that greasy hair by playing with her own hands instead.

Hermione shook her head, telling herself to focus on the task at hand. Once her list was complete, she pointed her wand at the coin and asked, '_Quill handy?'_

It was a long list and he couldn't be expected to memorise it all, though as a renowned Potions master, he probably could.

'_No_,' came his delayed reply. He must be busy, not in his office or not alone, so she put aside her list (carefully concealed and charmed to look like a copy of her Arithmancy notes) and did her homework. It wasn't until five hours later that she felt the sickle burn again.

By that time, Hermione had been in the common room with Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny, but she left, saying she wanted to look up something.

'_Now_,' the message read, so she took out the list and started with the first item.

It was slow going, as there wasn't enough room on the small coin to do more than one ingredient at a time, but with great patience, it was eventually completed.

'_All?_' he asked.

'_Yes_,' she replied, that was all.

'_Within the week,_' he promised, and she put the coin back into her robes, knowing that was the end of the communication. She was thankful for it, too, she'd been bent over that tiny thing, squinting at it for over an hour.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and emerged from the privacy of her four-poster and returned to the common room.

"Mione, there you are. Come on, we're going to dinner," said Ron. Her stomach rumbled in hearty agreement with this plan.

She shouldn't've done, but she allowed herself one quick peek up at the head table. Though she'd only caught a brief glimpse, she thought that Snape looked better today, but then again, she might just be imagining things. Or more probably, she was simply too far away to see the worry lines and hollowed eyes.

'_No more of that, Granger_,' she told herself sternly, digging into her Sunday roast with perhaps too much vigour.

.

"That's not fair!" Harry cried, standing up angrily.

"_Harry, no!" _Hermione whispered frantically, pulling at his robes to get him to sit back down. With Ron's help, she managed it.

She wanted to say, "It's only Quidditch," but knew that wouldn't endear her at all to those with whom she sat. The Beaters of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had just informed Harry that they'd been banned from playing, leaving Gryffindor in a bit of a lurch as to training up the replacements before Saturday.

Harry was blocked from scheduling extra Quidditch practices, and when he complained loudly about it, Snape had banned Gryffindor from playing entirely.

Poor Harry. Poor frustrated and utterly constricted Harry. She knew how trapped and unhappy he felt, this couldn't improve matters any. It took her and Ron several minutes to convince him that murdering the current Headmaster would not solve all his immediate problems.

"It would make me feel better," Harry growled.

"It would rip your soul," Hermione countered. "Then you can make Horcruxes too. Is that what you want?"

Harry drooped at this, and murdering Snape wasn't brought up again.

.

'_4th fl. 3rd on the E. 1st M desk,' _read the sickle two days later during History of Magic. Hermione was thrilled knowing that she had the ingredients to start again, and could barely wait for the lesson to end so she could go collect them.

"You two go on ahead, I'm going to have a word with Professor Binns."

Neville shook his head firmly. "If you wait, we all wait. That's the rules."

Hermione swore silently, having momentarily forgotten that the old stand-by would be ineffective. So, she was forced to approach Professor Binns, and asked a very obscure and esoteric question about one of the less important details about the lecture, and waited (and perforce made everyone else wait) for another 15 minutes while the ghost gave his long-winded answer.

She joined the small group of Gryffindors apologetically, and together, as per the new rules, they returned to the tower.

It seemed the only time she could retrieve them was secretly at night, using the Cloak and Map, which meant she'd have to wait.

She felt a surge of sympathy for Harry, unable to imagine how much worse it must be for him. She had only had to wait a number of hours; Harry, on the other hand, was waiting indefinitely, waiting for something to happen. In fact, _everyone_ was waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Voldemort to make his next move, waiting for Harry Potter to fall or flourish, to fulfil a prophesy they didn't even know existed.

She had taken to sleeping in the boys' dorm, no one had questioned it. Ginny took Seamus' bed most nights as well.

It was easy to take the Map and Cloak, though she had to be careful around Ginny, who was a much lighter sleeper than the rest. She had good reason to know after sharing a room with her during most holidays. Perhaps it was a gene inherited from her mother that would be put to use when she had children of her own and had to keep an ear open even in sleep, for the sounds of potential mischief.

A quick Silencing Charm solved most her problems. She put the Cloak on before even leaving the room, on the off-chance that anyone was in the common room, but it was thankfully empty. Her luck stayed with her, as the Fat Lady was sleeping soundly in her portrait, and so didn't berate her or ask questions. Of course, she'd have to wake her up in order to get back in, which she'd already done several times this term. Indeed the Fat Lady must be getting annoyed or concerned about the invisible voice that demanded entry to Gryffindor Tower several nights a month, but there was nothing else for it.

Hermione considered going early in the morning, instead of the middle of the night, so that she could simply go directly to breakfast after she was finished with her business, instead of having to return conspicuously, but discarded the idea. If she was missing when Gryffindor tower left en masse to go to breakfast, it would raise much more suspicion, and she didn't want to worry her friends.

Checking her coin one last time, she headed to the fourth floor, the third classroom on the East side of the corridor. It was incredibly dark, but she didn't dare light her wand. She had to make do with very little light, so she kept her hand to the wall, as a blind man might, and slowly walked, not picking up her feet too far and shortening her steps.

When she finally arrived at the classroom without incident, she instantly went to the middle desk in front of the classroom. Inside was a sizeable bundle, and she didn't have the personal fortitude _not_ to open it right on the spot to inspect the contents.

Hermione felt like it was Christmas morning. So happy to have ingredients at her disposal, she did a small though very silly dance, saying a silent thank you to Snape.

He'd given her dragon blood instead of Re'em blood, she noticed, just as she had suggested early on in their discussions. He had actually followed through with her theory, and made a base with dragon blood, but she didn't think the process would be that difficult to adjust from the original recipe. The rest of it was in perfect order, better quality than she had used the first time. Then again, he was a Potions master, he must know all the best apothecaries and harvesting grounds.

Putting everything back, she sighed contentedly, and pulled out the Map to make sure no one would be in her way as she returned to Gryffindor tower.

Scanning it she found her path clear, the only people out being Argus Filch and Severus Snape.

She admitted she spent longer than she should have watching the progress his little dot made across the parchment. It was entirely foolish, she knew, to 'coincidentally' run into him. He was entirely avoidable and so she should, _would, _avoid him. And yet, she thought it was almost a pity that they were both out and alone in the same part of the castle, and yet wouldn't meet. But that was how she knew it had to be.

How lonely for him, she thought, when an idea occurred to her. He didn't have to continue thinking he was alone in the night. She could send him a message with the coin, telling him she was retrieving the ingredients now. But that was too long to fit into a single message.

She returned her gaze to the map and cursed herself for having lingered too long over it, because Filch was now squarely in the fourth floor and didn't appear to be moving. She tried to remember what was there. Trophy cases? Suits of armour? Whatever it was had his full attention and he gave no sign of leaving in the near future. It wouldn't be a problem if Mrs. Norris hadn't been with him, but she knew that cat would find her out, and after her beating, she had no great desire to meet the caretaker again.

Well, that solved the problem as to what to send as a message. 'Two birds,' she thought.

'_Distract Filch, 4th fl.'_

Watching the map, she saw his dot stop in its course, and knew he must have felt the coin burn and was reading her message.

_'You're there?'_

_'Yes. Can't leave. Cat=Cane.' _

Hermione was uncertain if her syntactic economising would get the message across, she hoped so. Yes, she was there. She couldn't leave on account of Filch and his cat, which might discover her and lead to another unpleasant detention. It must have done the trick, because the dot labelled Severus Snape turned round and went back the way he came, descending staircases and heading to the fourth floor.

She heard his voice echo in the corridor, though quietly. By the sound of it, he must have been right outside the door. For no reason at all, she held her breath as she listened to the conversation.

Snape quickly dispatched Filch by assigning some task to do elsewhere. She watched the dot move safely away. Snape's didn't move. Letting out her breath and drawing it in again as if to summon her courage, she put the map away and opened the door, knowing he would be just outside.

She _knew_ he couldn't see her, but the way he was staring in her direction was uncanny. Of course, he'd have seen the door open and close, and must have had an accurate idea of where she was, but it was still bizarre. It might have been silly of her, but she was excited at this chance to watch him freely, without anyone else in Gryffindor wondering what she was doing, going against the rule not to look his way.

His wand was lit, casting harsh and unflattering light upon his face. He looked like some menacing gargoyle in the night, though the sight did not repulse or frighten her. In fact, it was reassuring, somehow, like a gargoyle that resolutely guards the Headmaster's office. Protective, implacable, reliable.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly, referring both to the ingredients and for his assistance with Filch.

He didn't acknowledge her, and she knew better than to press. Having accomplished what she'd set out to do (both getting the ingredients and calling Snape's attention to her presence), she slinked contentedly away, showing him the courtesy of removing the Silencing Charms at least until the end of the corridor, so he could hear her leave.


	14. Drawing the Line

**Chapter 14: Draw the Line**

"There are new seating assignments," said Alecto Carrow when they walked into Magical Hierarchy. "Consult the board for your places."

The seating chart hadn't been randomly assigned, that was for certain. It was painfully obvious from first glance the nature of the placements.

Ron, Neville and Malfoy were given the front seats, as their pedigrees were the most immaculate. It was meant to be a place of honour but given the choice, none of them (or anyone else other than Hermione, for that matter) would willingly _choose_ to sit at the front of the class.

Hermione was forced to sit in the final row, the furthest back she had ever sat in any lesson. Several rows of empty desks separated her and the next line of students, which included Harry, as he had a Muggle-born mother. Her black-haired friend had turned around in his seat several times to look at her before he finally just decided to grab his bag and move to sit beside her.

A part of Hermione was pleased, but another part, the more rational part, knew that this couldn't end well.

"_Harry,"_ she whispered. "_I'm fine, go back to your—"_

Harry plopped down as if he hadn't heard her.

"Mr. Potter," called Carrow from the front of the classroom. "That is not your assigned seat."

Harry shrugged casually. "I just thought, you know, as I'm trying to kill Voldemort and everything, you'd want to put me in the back too."

Hermione groaned inwardly. '_Oh, Harry. Stupid, sweet Harry, what have you done?'_ She suspected that Voldemort would know about this. Snape had specifically ordered her never to say the name in front of him. He wasn't a loyal Death Eater, so it wasn't out of respect he'd told her not to say it, but, she recalled clearly, because he bore the mark. Don't say it in front of the Dark Mark. There must have been a magical connection, something that happened when the name was spoken near it.

As if in proof to Hermione's theory, Alecto grasped her forearm, exactly where the Dark Mark was tattooed.

Now Carrow was furious, and pulling out her wand, she screeched, "You'll pay for that one, Potter!"

Instinctively, Hermione rose and pulled out her wand, trying to put herself in front of Harry, who was doing the very same thing, putting out an arm to try to push her safely behind him. In the front of the classroom, Ron and Neville shot up as well.

It was silent and tense for a few moments as the entire class waited for the first hex to fly, but as Carrow drew in deep breaths, the red slowly drained from her face and she calmed down.

Hermione could read Ron so easily in that moment. He was pale, contemplating what would happen to Harry for his behaviour, but his jaws were clenched, debating whether or not to join his friend in whatever fate befell him.

He caught her eye, thankfully, and she shook her head and mouthed '_please_.' There was no need for both of them, or as she would probably be considered an accomplice in this, all three of them to go down. Both she and Harry knew that Ron would stand by their side. He didn't need to prove it to the rest of the world. He'd better serve them standing by under the Cloak, rather than chained up next to them.

Slowly, Carrow started to walk towards the back of the classroom. All heads turned as she stumped by. "_Detention_," she hissed through clenched teeth, and something akin to mad excitement swirled with the fury in her eyes. "Tonight. Be in the dungeons at eight."

"I will, _sir_," Harry said, mumbling the last word under his breath.

For it was whispered (not in her hearing, of course) that Alecto Carrow was just as manly as her brother. They acted the same, unfortunately looked the same, and she even had a deep contralto voice that reflected her brother's base. There was doubt that Alecto was actually a witch at all; they said that she was just a shorter wizard with a hint of femininity.

Carrow returned to the front of the class to give her lecture to an uncommonly silent classroom. Harry remained sitting beside her. After all that, he still didn't move his place. His argument had been reasonable, after all. Perhaps Alecto had conceded the point.

"_Why, Harry_?" she whispered desperately, trying to stop her throat from constricting, and the tears from prickling in her eyes. She couldn't begin to describe her terror for him in that moment.

Mouthing off to a Death Eater was, in Hermione's experience, a painful pastime, and it was bound to be so much worse for him than it had been for her. What if they Crucioed him out of his wits? What if they beat him within an inch of his life? What if…?

Fantasy after horrible fantasy played through her head, each new gory scenario worst than the last.

The only thing she knew for certain was that Alecto wouldn't kill him. Only Voldemort could kill him, his Death Eaters weren't allowed to try. It _was_ possible, however, that they would simply remove Harry from the castle and take him directly to Voldemort.

'_But why haven't they done that already?'_ she wondered. It was a question she'd asked herself many times the last month and a half.

.

This time it was Hermione's turn to go stand under the Cloak with Ron and watch as their friend was tortured. It wasn't something she was looking forward to.

Ron simply didn't understand why Ginny wanted to go with them to watch Harry's detention. And while both Hermione and Harry (for different reasons) also didn't want Ginny to go, Ron was the loudest in his refusal. Harry didn't want to make Ginny watch, and Hermione didn't know if she could control two Weasleys at the same time. She had a bit of sway over Ron, but Ginny might not be able to contain herself.

Plus, the Cloak didn't fit over three grown people, especially if one of the grown persons was as tall as Ron.

.

"Same rules," said Harry as he walked down the corridor, seemingly alone. "You stay hidden under the Cloak at all times. Don't do _anything_, unless she tries to take me out of Hogwarts."

It was strange, she'd understood that rule perfectly when _she_ had been the one in detention, and worried for her friends should they try to interfere. _Now_ it seemed like an entirely ridiculous and nonsensical rule, to just stand there and watch him be tortured.

She wondered for whom her detention had been more painful, herself or the boys.

Well, she'd find out.

"Your wand," Carrow commanded, exactly as she had when it had been Hermione's detention.

Harry handed it over so promptly, so smugly, that it caught Carrow off-guard. It really was quite the show of trust in her and Ron that he could so easily part with his wand when he knew they had his back. She only hoped they deserved that vote of confidence.

"Now," she growled complacently, waving Harry's own wand in his face to taunt him about his impotence. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what it was you were doing with that old fool, Dumbledore, the night he died, hmm?"

"Just out for a bit of a walk," Harry answered cheekily.

Hermione wasn't sure of the curse Alecto Carrow used, because she didn't say the spell aloud, but whatever it was had Harry on his knees and panting hard and coughing occasionally, as if he'd just received a hard blow to the stomach.

"I'll ask again. What were you and the Headmaster doing?"

"All right, all right," Harry wheezed. "I'll tell you. We were out searching for… Crumple Horned Snorkacks."

"What?" she snapped, confused and therefore angry and nervous. "Searching for what?"

Hermione and Ron both suppressed their groans as Harry continued to mouth off. "They are very elusive magical creatures that live in Sweden."

"He's lying," came a cold smooth voice from the doorway. Severus Snape stood there, eyeing the scene emotionlessly. "The beast to which he is referring is mythical at best, but altogether most likely the result of the delusional imagination of one of his little friends. The arrogant brat is just having you on."

"What are you doing here, Snape? I'm in charge of punishments."

"I'm not here to stop you," he said. "I just want to watch. Wouldn't want to miss this, after all…"

Alecto began to laugh cruelly. "No, I don't imagine you would. Stand back and see how it's done. _Crucio!_"

It took everything Hermione had not to cry out, fling off the Cloak and run to help him. Ron held her hand tightly, though whether to keep her from running out to help Harry or to keep himself from doing the same, she didn't know. She was shaking, she was going to vomit, she was sure, but Ron pulled her to face him, pushed her head into his shoulder as he hugged her and told her not to look. His whisper couldn't be heard over Harry's screaming.

She did look, though. She kept her head on his shoulder, but turned to the side, and could still see from one eye. She couldn't _not_ watch. It was like Buckbeak's almost beheading all over again.

It was over more quickly than it had seemed to Hermione. Probably after only a minute.

"If you knew what was good for you, Potter, the next thing out of your mouth had better be good," Carrow snarled.

'_Please, Harry, __**please**_," Hermione pleaded in her mind. Although what exactly she wanted Harry to do, she didn't know. He couldn't tell the truth, but she didn't want him to say anything that would put him through that again.

Twitching and panting from the floor, Harry said, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

"That makes you pretty skint, witless," Alecto sneered, and cast the torture curse again.

Even if they hadn't been muffled by Ron's robes, Hermione's cries would have been completely drowned out by Harry's.

"You said you wouldn't interfere!" screeched Alecto. It was only then that Hermione realised that Snape must have stopped her.

"Believe me, Alecto, no one would enjoy watching Potter die more than I would, but… You know the rules." He broke eye contact with Alecto to sneer bitterly at Harry. "He can't be damaged..." There was a pause before he turned back to Carrow, adding almost as if pointing out the silver lining to this dark cloud. "_Beyond repair."_

Once again, doubt began to fill her. What if he was really on Voldemort's side after all? Why else would he hate Harry so much? How could he just stand there and watch? Why did he have to antagonise Harry that way? Yes, he had to stay in character but…

But nothing. He _had_ to stay in character.

"No, no," said Alecto, clutching at this eagerly. "He will be healable. No permanent damage. He will still be the Dark Lord's when the time comes. You should try it, Snape! It's fun."

"No doubt," Snape allowed; he made no move to curse Harry, however.

"Well? Come on!"

He shook his head. "If I started, I know I wouldn't stop." His eyes rested on Harry with such genuine disgust that Hermione couldn't believe that he was playing a part. He looked down on Harry as if he were seeing something else entirely; a disgusting creature pickled in one of those many jars in his office.

When Carrow hit Harry with another Crucio, Snape's face didn't change at all.

Harry's screams echoed in the dungeon and she and Ron clung to each other again. Harry was convulsing so violently that his spectacles had flown off his head, his eyes clenched tightly in unbearable pain.

Now. This was the limit, she couldn't let this go on. She'd pointed her wand between Snape and Carrow, trying to decide whom to hex first. If she struck Carrow, Snape would be immediately aware of her presence, as he knew about the invisibility cloak. If she took down Snape first, Harry's torture would be prolonged, but then she could more easily take down a distracted and bewildered Alecto. She'd just made up her mind when Harry opened his eyes and his watery green gaze met Snape's harsh black stare.

"Stop!" It wasn't Harry who all but gasped this command, but Snape. When Carrow didn't listen he barked the order again, louder and more authoritatively. "_**ENOUGH!**_" He snatched the wand right out of her hand, ending the spell.

Harry simply panted on the floor, recovering. Hermione wanted to hurry to him, check that he was all right, ask him what she could do to help, but she stayed quietly and silently away, as per the rules. Hermione barely heard the rest of the conversation, as Harry rolled onto his side and looked in the general area where he knew them to be under the Cloak. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and Hermione guessed he'd bitten his tongue rather badly.

"No permanent damage. Remember the Longbottoms," he told her.

"The rule is to leave the boy to the Dark Lord. I'm not killing him. The boy doesn't need his wits, he just needs to be living."

"Enough, Alecto. This detention is finished. Go back to your office."

Huffing loudly, she threw Harry's wand on the ground and stomped out of the dungeon room. Snape watched her exit before slowly turning back to Harry, considering him carefully. Harry had closed his eyes by this point and looked as if he were about to fall asleep right there on the cold stones.

Hermione wanted nothing more than for Snape to leave. The sooner he did, the sooner she could get Harry to the Hospital wing.

Carefully, she slid her hand from between the folds of the Invisibility Cloak and made frantic shooing gestures with it, hoping that Ron wouldn't notice.

Snape certainly did, though. It must have been disconcerting, to see a phantom arm flailing about like that, but he was a clever man, must have quickly realised what it meant, that she and Ron were under the Invisibility Cloak.

"I hope you've learnt your lesson, Potter," said Snape curtly, before billowing out of the room.

The moment the door swung heavily shut behind him, Hermione and Ron had thrown off the Cloak and run to Harry's side.

"Mate? You all right? Say something," said Ron.

"He can't, he's bit his tongue nearly through," said Hermione. Her knowledge of healing spells was almost strictly theoretical, and she thought it best to get him to the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible, rather than mend that complex muscle herself.

Hermione Disillusioned them and together, she and Ron put one of Harry's arms around their shoulders, and took him to Madam Pomfrey. To save Harry the trouble of walking, Hermione had cast a very gentle mobilicorpus, so he merely levitated along with them. The entire way there, she and Ron took turns muttering calming but nonsensical things, encouragements and words of comfort and pride, though neither was sure Harry was lucid enough to hear them.

Madam Pomfrey was able to put him to rights, but she said that the effects of the Cruciatus could be long term, and it might be a while before the tremors would cease and the residual ache completely vanish.

Back in the boys' dormitory, Ginny and Neville greeted them anxiously, eager for news.

"I'm fine," Harry croaked. All that screaming had done a number on his throat, apparently. Those were the first words he'd spoken since his 'wit beyond measure' comment in the dungeons. Hermione suspected he only bothered himself with speech to reassure Ginny (who didn't look at all reassured in any case.)

Had Hermione known his throat was in such bad shape she'd've asked Madame Pomfrey for something. She had half a mind to go back and get a soothing solution.

Ron took up the story from there, briefly describing the detention and the Healer's orders that Harry rest. Neville and Ginny nodded in understanding, and with her and Ron's help, Harry staggered to his bed.

She waited an hour before leaving, but before she did, she heard a light scuffling noise. Peering through the curtains of her four-poster, she saw Ginny rise from Seamus' bed and go join Harry. Hermione nodded approvingly. Harry needed all the comfort he could get.

Which was why she was taking the map and Cloak and setting off for the Hospital Wing. This time when she passed Snape on her way, she made no effort to reveal herself to him. Didn't bother letting him know he wasn't alone.

She couldn't help it. She knew that he had to keep his cover, but she still had trouble separating her feelings and her reason. He'd watched with relish as Harry was being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. That was a mental image she wouldn't soon forget.

Soon enough, he turned to go down a different corridor and she continued on to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey seemed a bit frightened for her, that she'd come all that way after curfew, but Hermione reassured her that she wouldn't be seen. Back in the dormitory, she gently wakened Ginny and gave her the potion for Harry's throat, telling her to give it to him when next he woke. She nodded, put it on the bedside table, and cuddled back into Harry, who sleepily clung more tightly to her.

Hermione went back to bed, closing the curtains around Dean's four-poster and lit her wand, and watched the map for him.

She frowned at the dot labelled Severus Snape. How easily he'd seen Harry tortured. Only at the very last moment had he done anything about it. Did he even care at all? Why did he hate Harry so much as to enjoy watching him be Crucioed? He'd done nothing to deserve that level of loathing. Nothing.

Snape stopped mid-stride and turned round, heading towards the castle doors, then out onto the grounds.

He must have been summoned, she thought.

.

SS

.

Both Severus and Alecto were bidden to come to the Dark Lord, no doubt to explain who had dared use his name.

"It was Potter, my Lord," Carrow informed him, bowing low.

"Let me see," said his master, and Severus knew he was probing Carrow's mind for the memory. He would be next, Severus knew.

Sure enough, the Dark Lord pushed into his mind, watching the detention he'd witnessed and put a stop to.

When the Dark Lord pulled out of his memories, he said, "Thank you, Severus, you are always thinking of me before yourself. You are truly my most faithful servant. I know how much you despise the boy…"

Snape merely bowed in response.

"And yet you don't allow yourself the pleasure of torturing him out of loyalty to me." He turned to Carrow. "Alecto, on the other hand."

At this, she backed away a step, bowing lower. "My lord, the boy was not damaged."

"As a result of Severus' forethought. Not yours. Perhaps he will be so good as to indulge me similarly. You'll tell me when she's about to die, won't you, Severus?" he asked in that odd sort of perverted politeness the Dark Lord always used.

Severus bowed again. "My lord."

And for the second time that night, Severus watched someone be Crucioed within an inch of their life.

.

He returned to the castle alone, neither wanting or willing to wait for Alecto to recover. He knew sleep was out of his reach at this point, so once at Hogwarts, he stalked the hallways, not really expecting to find any recalcitrant students. Since the new regime (there seemed no other word) no one had dared break even the smallest rule.

He heard a crash from a nearby classroom and went to investigate. Probably Peeves up to his usual mischief. At least one thing hadn't changed. That poltergeist was as much of a pain as ever.

The door slammed shut behind him. "_I saw your face_," said an angry whisper.

Snape started, whirled around, pointing his wand in the direction from which it had come.

"_You didn't know I was there. You didn't think anyone was watching you. You weren't playing a part for anyone. That reaction was entirely your own!"_

Severus was furious. Furious that she had startled him, furious for her bringing it up, and furious for seeking him out like this yet again.

She whipped off the Cloak.

"You're supposed to be helping Harry! Not helping other people hurt him!" she accused. "You _liked_ watching him suffer. I saw it in your face!"

The accusation burned all the more hotly when his denial hid true temptation; that he really had enjoyed watching Potter's torture. For a moment, he'd been a 16 year old boy again, looking down at his longest and most hated enemy. It hadn't troubled his conscience at all… until he'd seen his eyes. _Her_ eyes, with just as much pain and anger in them as they had 20 years ago...

He looked at Granger with a twisted sneer. He didn't have to defend himself to her. What was she? Just a mere slip of a girl. He didn't owe her anything.

"What I do is none of your concern."

"None of my concern?" she very nearly shouted. "We're supposed to be helping each other! Now I'm a patient person, and I've let you push me around all that you like. I let you bully me, boss me about, browbeat me, even let you nearly kill me… But this is where I draw the line."

"Help each other?" he spat back condescendingly. "What could _you_ possibly do to help _me_? You're just. A little. Girl!"

She stared him down angrily, though her eyes shone with tears. "And you are just. One. Man…" she said, her voice shaking. She flung the Cloak around her and she vanished from sight. "Alone!" And with that, she left him…

Alone.

.

HG

.

Hermione spent the next week working herself raw. Days, she studied hard academically. Evenings, she trained with Harry and Ron, Neville and Ginny. Nights, she slipped out to work on her potion.

It seemed that Harry and Ron had recovered from Harry's detention much more quickly than she had. Then again, they had no conflicting feelings. It was simple. Black and White. Evil Death Eaters had hurt them. They hated the Evil Death Eaters. End of story.

Only that was just the beginning for Hermione.

It had been easier dealing with Snape when she could see him only as a suffering double-agent. Forced to do things he didn't like for the greater good. Now, she reflected, there must have been a reason he joined up with Voldemort in the first place. There had to be something deeply wicked inside him. Something very dark. Had to be. He wasn't the innocent victim/hero she'd originally thought him to be. She could no longer look up to him as blindly as before. She felt just as she had that time in the Shrieking Shack; the utter horror she'd felt in that moment when she thought Lupin had been helping Sirius (whom she still believed to be a killer at that point.) She'd felt so betrayed. She'd trusted Lupin, had kept his secret from everyone…

And here she was again.

But Lupin had been innocent, in the end…

Thinking back to when she'd made herself known to him in Myrtle's bathroom, she had to wonder just how close she'd actually come to being killed. Much closer than she'd originally thought, that was for certain. Snape wasn't as friendly or reliable an ally as she'd thought.

"And to think I'd pitied him…" she said to herself as she was stirring her potion.

Then she remembered the broken man who sat with his knees against his chest, his hands in his hair, and she realised she _still_ pitied him, despite everything.

As she said, it wasn't as simple as dividing it between Death Eaters and Order members, black and white.

Despite what she'd seen during Harry's detention, she still believed that Snape was on their side, whatever personal faults, grudges, and dark tendencies he might have. His heart, or rather, his intent, was in the right place.

She'd just have to teach herself to trust him all over again.

Looking back, she wasn't surprised. It was the reason that Harry hadn't learned Occlumency. He and Snape simply couldn't stand each other, for reasons still obscure to her. There was a deep and personal enmity there, to be sure, but it (probably) didn't have to do with the war.

Just as she was having trouble keeping her personal feelings and reason separate, so must Snape be. So would Harry, if he knew the truth of Snape's loyalties. She would just have to work past it. Get over it. And perhaps never let Harry alone in the same room with Snape again, just to be safe. Perhaps she ought not to be either. Just to be safe…

.

SS

.

The following fortnight was unpleasant for Severus Snape, not that he ever had _pleasant_ ones, mind. But the two weeks subsequent to Potter's detention had been particularly poor. He'd stopped sleeping again, which made him more irascible than ever. He'd got into a blazing row with Minerva and said things that, had the _real_ Headmaster been alive, he would have regretted. As it was, he couldn't regret it, as it was what Dumbledore had wanted. He was entirely _too_ believable, once again, in his role. He didn't believe it himself, not this time, but only because he was still burning from Granger's accusation. He had stopped Carrow, hadn't he? He'd kept the boy alive and safe, had he not? Not that his unpaid life debt to Potter's father would have allowed otherwise…

And why was everyone so devoted to that damned boy, anyway? It made Severus even angrier to know that he was too, in his own wand-forced way.

The fact remained that he hadn't done anything wrong. Yes, he had taken out his temper on the girl, but Granger was the only person in the castle—hell—the _world_ that he could be completely himself around without worrying for his life or ruining his cover (which would also result in the loss of his life). And she deserved it for being so annoying, he defended himself.

That, and she'd hit a nerve, so in true Snape-fashion, he'd burned all his bridges and alienated his only ally. Not that he needed her, of course. He wasn't some attention-starved teenager that needed constant affirmation and reassurance. He didn't have friends, he didn't have family, he didn't have a lover, he didn't have a life. He only had a mission.

And his orders came from a dead man, and his motivation from a dead woman.

.

Yet another sleepless night. His guard was down, and at this point, Severus didn't know if it was because he was dim-witted with fatigue or his death-wish refused to be suppressed any longer, but he walked unsteadily down the corridors late that night with absolutely no concern for defence. He'd caught and disabled many booby-traps in the past whilst on his rounds but tonight he missed one. It had Filius' touch, more Charms than Transfiguration and not large and brutal, but subtle and efficient. More the unobtrusive Ravenclaw's style. It was, however, rather darker than he would have expected from Flitwick, but there were very few 'light' ways of killing a person.

He staggered backwards a few steps, before he even felt the pain of the slash. It took a while for it to reach his brain. His wand had disappeared, no doubt taken by a disarmament charm the same time the slashing hex came at him. Well done, he had to allow.

He'd always been a private man, so he didn't really fancy the idea of his death being right there in the open corridor, so he took himself off to a nearby classroom, crawling on his belly like a dying dog seeking its final shelter. He'd been looking for a reason to give up, to fail, as he'd always known he would. He'd done nothing but let people down his whole life, there was no reason this should be any different. Potter had others to protect him. The Order managed to get by without his information… he supposed anyway. He really hadn't a clue as to what the Order was doing, since he'd cut himself off from his only connection with them.

Exsanguination was as good a way to die as any, he supposed, though it would take a while at this rate. Still, he was in no real hurry. He'd be dead by morning, that's what mattered. He lay down and got comfortable, and went to sleep. He wouldn't even be aware when he stopped breathing.

.

He was rudely averted from his course of action by a familiar swotty voice.

Severus groaned, unable to stir himself enough to open his eyes. As lucidity spread over him, he became aware that his flesh was being magically mended.

"… doing the best I can from theory. We can try your luck with Madam Pomfrey, if you think she'll help you. Though from what I've read, it looks as though it's working. I haven't any blood replenisher on hand but I'm sure there's some in the Hospital Wing so it might be worth a try to use a Summoning char—"

"You're babbling," he said, still keeping his eyes closed. Perhaps if he ignored her, she'd disappear. But he'd have an easier time ignoring her if she'd shut up.

"I know, I do that when I'm—oh. You've come round then. _Accio!_"

He huffed. "So it would seem," he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Soon she was forcing a bottle into his hand, telling him to drink.

But Severus _never_ drank something just because he was told to. He reached for his wand before he remembered he didn't have it, and seeing that the girl held hers in her hand, he took it from her to test the potion to see what it was. He could tell by the smell that it had the same properties of the Blood Replenishing Potion, he could detect the faint scent of pomegranate, but one never knew if a subtle poison had been added to a brew.

His spell confirmed that it was only a simple Blood Replenishing Potion, and after a moment's hesitation, he drank it. 'Too late to die now,' he thought. 'Might as well take it.'

She sat quietly with her legs tucked underneath her for a few minutes while the potion took effect.

He wanted to ask what in Merlin's name she was doing there, but _what_ she was doing was only too plain.

"Why are you here?" he asked sullenly. She'd ruined his plan of being successfully assassinated.

"Well, nobody is ever left alone. It's part of our rules. Ron and I were under the Cloak for Harry's detention, just like the boys were for mine."

_Nobody is ever left alone._ What a Gryffindor thing to do, and yet… while Snape wanted to sneer, he couldn't help but feel a small prick of envy. They cared so much for each other, watched over one another so diligently. The envy quickly changed to bitterness.

"What are you even doing here? I said not to come to me!"

"I was watching you on the map," she confessed. "When you stopped moving for a long time, I came down to see…"

His eyes narrowed at her threateningly, his anger rising in his chest. "You're _spying _on me?"

She shook her head wildly, waving her hands up in front of her in negation. "No, of course not! In Gryffindor, everyone has a group. Each group should know where every other member is at all times. We even tell each other when we are going to the loo."

"I'm _not_ a _Gryffindor_," he pointed out with a snarl.

"Yes, sir, I know that, I just thought…" She faltered, sighed, and tried again. "I've chosen to trust you," she said stiffly, as if convincing herself of this as much as him. "Whatever is between you and Harry I've decided to leave to the two of you. And I haven't been _spying_ on you, sir. I've been keeping a watchful eye on the map just in case..."

She was veritably _radiating _with know-it-all-ness. She didn't say, 'Just in case something like _this_ happens,' because she didn't need to. It was obvious she felt justified in spying on him because now she'd saved his life.

_Oh no…_

She'd_ saved _his_ life._

Severus shut his eyes in shattering denial of it all. Not another life debt. _Oh please, no…_

He wished she'd left him for dead. He couldn't bear to be bound again. Not again. Would his will _never_ be his own?

It was all he could do not to wail in anguish right then in there. He could have easily cast the killing curse on her just then, if he'd only had his wand. But of course, the life debt wouldn't allow that.

Failing screaming, failing killing her, he thought he might just break down and weep in the sheer frustration of it all, but his pride had revived sooner than his strength, it appeared.

Oh, but he was incomparably miserable.

She kept talking, though not the same rapid burble as before. She was suggesting some plan of getting him back to his office to rest.

"Just leave me," he told her, though he didn't want to languish there without his wand. He knew it was a moot point as she wouldn't heed his suggestion anyway.

"Here, let me help you—" She was trying to pull him to his feet.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped angrily. Instantly she pulled away, looking as if he'd struck her. It didn't last however.

"You must be feeling better if you can bark at me like that." She had the unconscionable cheek to smile at him. No doubt she was gloating that she held power over him, that she'd enslaved him to the eternal misery of a life debt.

Just as he was about to give her a thorough tongue-lashing, he realised that he didn't _feel_ bound by a life debt as he had before. "Silence!" he commanded, though she hadn't been speaking. He focussed intensely in on himself, searching for it but he felt nothing new.

How was that possible?

He went over the terms of a life debt in his head. Those who show mercy and spare another's life…

It must not have been mercy, then. If he wasn't bound by a life debt, she must have simply saved his life because… because she wanted him to live.

He turned to the girl, studying her with incredulity. Last he'd spoken to her, she'd been accusing him of betraying her and her best friend and yet she chose to trust him, had saved his life, asking for nothing in return.

That possibility had never occurred to him.


	15. The Law

_**Chapter 15: **__The Law_

Going to him directly was, of course, out of the question. It was too dangerous. Firstly, it was dangerous for him for it increased the chances that his true loyalties would be discovered, and it was dangerous for her because Snape seemed always to be in a dangerous mood these days, and he seemed to unleash his temper on her.

She recalled one time during Potions earlier in the year that Snape had said that Harry was getting on his 'last nerve,' to which Ron had replied, "He's only got one nerve to begin with. Bat's always on his last nerve, has been his whole miserable life."

Hermione wished she'd known then what she did now. If Snape had truly been at the end of his tether _then_, he must have lost it completely now.

Now he didn't have the Headmaster, or anyone, really. Well, apart from her, but he'd been right about her. Painful as it was to admit it, she wasn't much of an ally, what could she do to help him? She was '_just a little girl._' Altogether a rather poor replacement for Albus Dumbledore, or even anyone else in the Order. He was useful to _her_, certainly. Having a Potions master on hand when she was working on her project was an invaluable resource. Unfortunately, that relationship was more than a trifle one-sided.

She recalled that she _had_ done _some_ good. Before the Headmaster had died, Snape used to summon her after his meetings with Voldemort. At least, she assumed she'd done some good… somehow, just by being there.

But she couldn't be there now which meant that she was, as he'd so unkindly pointed out, rather useless.

She had, since his near death the previous week, taken to sending him messages via her sickle every other day or so. Not having anything else to talk about, she asked him potions questions related to her project, even if she already knew the answer. She just wanted to keep that line of connection open. Just to remind him…

'_Remind him of what?_' she asked himself. _'That I'm an incompetent brewer and need to nag him every day? That's what he'll think…'_

Still, just because she couldn't help _him_ didn't mean she was useless to everyone.

x

So furious was Severus that he had to release his wand so he wouldn't be tempted to use it. In its stead, he tightly grasped the silver sickle in his pocket. He began rubbing the coin with his thumb, which did seem to help calm his temper, or at least it gave him something else upon which to focus other than peeling the skin off Carrow's face.

He knew the spell. He could do it. He _wanted_ to do it. He'd be punished for it but as it wouldn't kill her he could get away with it. The Dark Lord liked him better anyway.

Granger's coin warmed, but he couldn't tell if it had been because she had sent him a message or because he'd been rubbing it so furiously. Still, the possibility that it _was_ a message distracted him sufficiently. What did she want this time? Probably just another inane question. He knew what she was doing. She'd been doing it all week. When she sent him a question, it wasn't an actual query; it was an act of the Gryffindorism, '_Nobody is left alone._'

Severus snorted in disgust at the idea of being made an honorary Gryffindor, but then his insides went cold and everything faded as he recalled Dumbledore saying whether Severus might not have been better suited to Gryffindor.

He sighed. _Nobody is left alone._

He again focussed on what Carrow was saying, only to find he hadn't missed much. Some poor suffering Muggle-born first year was to be given to Filch for the evening, for daring (in all innocence) to ask if there was actually any difference between purebloods and Muggle-borns, apart from the culture in which they were raised. Because, after all, Hermione Granger was the best in the school, and she was a Muggle-born…

Granger hadn't even been there, and yet she had ruined Carrow's lesson, undermining the premise of pureblood supremacy and muggleborn inferiority.

Severus tossed in an easy insult about Granger's inability to think for herself, only parrot off what she'd read in textbooks, which soothed Carrow for a moment, but then she voiced her wish that the polemic girl be removed.

Whether she meant removed from the castle or removed from this earth, Severus did not know.

"No matter. She and all the other Mudbloods will be thrown in Azkaban soon enough."

"I wasn't aware that the scheme was anything more than a possible consideration," he drawled.

She smirked knowingly, as if she were privy to information he was not. The idea that he was ignorant of something made him acutely uncomfortable. "Go on," he inveigled softly. He didn't often use his voice to coax people, but when he put it to that use, he found it was extremely effective. "Do tell me more, Alecto," he purred…

.

Severus left Alecto, reaching the dungeons much earlier than the first year's detention was to start. He Disillusioned himself, and standing in the corner, he waited. It was supposed to be overseen by Filch, but he didn't put it past Carrow to come take over the punishment. It was one thing if it were Potter, and quite another if it was an innocent first year, unable to withstand Carrow's idea of castigation.

At five minutes to the hour, Filch shuffled in, his mouth twisted in a smile and mumbling to himself about what instrument he'd use.

"Now where's that horsewhip?" he enquired aloud. Finding it, he unfurled it and gave it a few practice cracks.

The poor first year, John O'Neil, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with horrified anticipation. No doubt he was imagining what that horsewhip would do to his baby-skinned back.

He stumbled into the room, as if he'd been pushed inside by some invisible force.

Filch took the bows wand and set it down on a table upon which lay many devices that hadn't been chosen for this particular detention. The child began to cry, but Filch was not moved. He merely grunted for the boy to take off his shirt.

Shaking with sobs, O'Neil did so. He wiped his drippy nose with his arm.

Severus watched, not the boy but Filch, as the first lash cracked against flesh. Bitter resentment, anger, and revenge were what he read on the caretaker's face. He lay into the boy as if he could beat the magic out of him and take it for himself.

Before the fourth blow fell, an odd look came over Filch's face, and he lowered the whip.

Severus recognised the use of a Confundus charm immediately. A moment later Granger shimmered into visibility by the younger Gryffindor's side.

"Are you all right, Johnny?"

"I wet me'self," he admitted shamefully, still crying.

Granger shushed him. "Don't worry about that," she said, and with a flick of her wrist, the boy was dry, if not entirely clean. She Summoned the boy's wand and gave it back to him. "There."

Quickly she glanced at Filch to see if he was coming to.

"Not much time. Get your shirt and get under the Cloak, quick! We'll have you in and out of the Hospital Wing so fast they won't have time to count your lashes. Madam Pomfrey will back us up— you can be sure about that. She'll say you got your twenty." As she spoke, she reached into Filch's pocket (with evident disgust), pulled out his pocket-watch and tapped it with her wand, no doubt to forward it to a later hour.

She darted under the Cloak just in time, it seemed, for Filch said, "Eh?" just as she disappeared. Severus suspected the invisible pair had already shuffled out of the room.

Argus began to rub his head as if it ached, and looked around the room, then to the whip he held in his hand. As Granger had expected, the old caretaker then fished out his pocket-watch to check the time. Grumbling to himself, he put the whip down on the table and went to the corner (not the one in which Severus concealed himself) to retrieve a bucket and mop, and began to swab away the urine and small amounts of blood the detention had… inspired.

When he was finished, he once again rearranged the items on the table, picking up some and stroking them lovingly before putting them back into place, for it was clear there was a strict order in which he kept them. Altogether, Severus was standing there much longer than he wished, though he had to admit that if Granger hadn't interrupted the detention in the first place, he'd have been there much longer.

He could, of course, have slipped out the door, it had been left open after all, but the Disillusionment Charm only worked if one kept still; even then it's possible for someone to notice if they are looking well enough. So Severus stood still until the caretaker had finished his business, an hour after he'd first come into the room.

When Filch slammed the door behind him, Severus was just about to move when he heard a breathless whisper, "Finally!" in a familiar voice. Granger's curly head emerged from nowhere, and bobbed disembodied across the room to the table. Her wand arm likewise appeared from seeming thin air, and she began to mutter charms at the objects on the table. Cushioning Charms on the whips, and other similar additions to the other implements to make them less painful, from what Severus could tell.

She'd had enough time to take O'Neil to the Hospital Wing and come back while the door was still ajar. Severus wondered how long they had both been standing there in wait for the caretaker to leave.

Quietly as he could, moving as slowly and unobtrusively as possible, he crept up behind her and wordlessly charmed the room for silence. She thought she was so sly. Well, he'd show her.

She sighed. "I guess that's it, then," she murmured, and covered her head once more so that she disappeared entirely. He knew when she turned around, because she marched right into him. She gasped in surprise and he removed the Disillusionment Charm.

"You ought watch where you're going, Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor for your… inattentiveness."

She was breathing hard when she appeared from under the Cloak, her face drained of colour.

"Why you—!" With a grunt, she slapped his chest in anger. "You frightened me half to death!"

He chuckled at her little display of temper, which didn't seem to improve her mood at all.

"If it had been Carrow, she'd have arranged for the other half as well_,_" he remarked.

That sobered her, and she let out her fury in a sigh, bowing her head in what he could only take for exhaustion. Her brow nearly touched his chest and her hair brushed up against his robes. He took an immediate step back, and warded the door while he was at it.

"Now listen here, Granger. I've much to tell you. You need to get word to the Order."

Instantly, her face took on that expression he'd seen many times before, and he could easily imagine that she was itching for ink, quill and parchment to take careful and studious notes.

"Ministry is in the process of passing a law that will, in effect, make being Muggle-born illegal."

"Illegal?" she interrupted, but he cut her off.

"Unless the Muggle-born can prove he or she did not steal their magic."

"Steal magic? How could we have done? It's not fair or logical."

"Of course it isn't," he growled, growing tired of her obtuseness. "This is, of course, an excuse to get rid of Muggle-borns."

"But how can we protect them? Safe-houses?"

"That is not your task," he said brusquely. "You are to take this information to Minerva and let the Order deal with this as they see fit."

"But I _am_ part of the Order."

"And when they bring it up in whatever meetings they hold, you can voice your opinions."

She huffed. "Very well, but what excuse do I have for even _knowing_ this? How can I tell Professor McGonagall I came by this information?"

"Say that you overheard my conversation with Carrow."

"That seems unlikely that I'd conveniently overhear a thing like that. They might question it."

"They would question the fact that you concealed yourself under the Invisibility Cloak, followed the woman who played a part not only in your torture but in Potter's, to try to get information that might help the Order? I think not, Granger," he snarled. No, it was _exactly_ the sort of thing she and her little friends would do. It was a marvel that they hadn't already taken it into their heads to do it. Of course, they would _now_ since he'd handed them the idea.

Granger blushed in concession to his (rather incontestable) point, and Severus thought he saw her frown, as if a plan was beginning to form in her overactive brain. He was tempted to jump into her mind and see for himself, but didn't.

"What?" he asked, more simply. Though it was the easier method of getting information, the veracity of the information it produced was less reliable.

Granger shook her head, as if shaking the vapours from her mind and looked up at him. "What?"

"You're plotting," he said, bordering on accusation but falling short, only because he'd allowed some curiosity to creep in.

She looked away. "It's nothing," she said, trying to shoo the matter away.

If there were any two words that could intrigue someone and lure them in about a subject, they were 'it's nothing.'

Without warning, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. She seemed to understand at once and averted her eyes to thwart him. He angled her head another way to try to get her to meet his eyes, but she simply closed hers, denying him his vehicle into her mind.

"I was wondering what this means for me and my family. I know it's selfish to be thinking of myself at a time like this, but I _am_ Muggle-born." She sighed, her eyes opening at last. "I was just wondering how I could protect them."

Severus didn't point out that _everyone_ was thinking about themselves, not just now during times of war, but during peace as well (though in Severus' experience, he doubted such a thing as peace truly existed.) Everyone thought about themselves all the time, that was the simple, pathetic nature of people. That she thought otherwise, that she felt guilty for thinking about herself instead of her penchant of worrying about others, spoke volumes of her childishness.

Severus grimaced, having to tell himself that that was neither true nor just. Her selflessness could not be attributed to her youth, as children were, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the most selfish creatures in existence. They were the centre of their own worlds and everything revolved around them. It wasn't until maturity set in that _most_ (or some, anyway) realised that there were other more important things in the world than their own precious hides.

Unwilling to grant Granger any good thing, he put it down to extreme naiveté.

The same kind of naiveté that would prompt a woman to ask the darkest wizard in existence to kill her instead of her child…

No. That wasn't love, goodness, or selflessness; that was incredibly foolish, imbecilic, naïve hope. An appalling characteristic in any woman, Severus decided firmly, ignoring the tightening of his throat.

Realising he was still holding Granger's chin, he let it go abruptly, and then wiped his hand on his robe as if to remove any evidence of the unnecessary extended contact.

Noticing this action, she spat. "Being a 'mudblood' isn't catching, _sir._"

He was surprised by her use of the vulgar word, despite its now common and frequent use, and he was surprised at himself for being so angry that she'd use it. "_Never_ use that word again," he commanded. That damned word had ruined his life.

She blinked up at him, and he noticed that there were spiteful tears in her eyes she wouldn't let fall. "Yes sir."

"Good. Now go," he commanded brusquely. She only stood there staring at him. "Go! Inform the Order about the law. Quickly, you stupid girl."

She closed her eyes and the tears trickled silently down her cheek. She turned her back on him and threw on the Cloak before leaving the room.

Good, he told himself. Tears would give more credence to her story when she told Minerva what she'd heard the evil Headmaster and Hierarchy teacher discussing. She _should_ look upset and worried. This was a good thing, he told himself.

The Dark Lord did that too. He kept telling himself things so that after much repetition, he actually believed it, and what's more, he forced everyone else to believe it too.

x

Ron and Harry looked very grim after she'd told them the news. At first, they'd been worried that she'd come back so late from escorting O'Neil to his detention. When she explained what she'd 'overheard' and had instantly gone to McGonagall however, their anxiety had changed from an immediate panic to drawn-out dread.

"There's no way to show _how_ you got your magic," said Ron sadly. "How can you prove anything?"

"That's the point," she said with a sigh. "You both inherited it from your parents. If I didn't 'come by it honestly', then I must have stolen it."

"When?" asked Harry. "How much time before it's put into effect?"

"I don't know," she answered, wishing that she did.

Later that night, once the dormitory had gone to sleep and after Ginny had changed beds again, Hermione took out her sickle and wrote the message, "_When law?"_

_ '__**Order knows**__?'_ he asked, not answering her question.

_ Yes. When law?_

_**Uncertain. Soon.**_

_ Order __m__eets tom._

_**Report after.**_

_ Yes sir._

It was strange, Hermione reflected, that she was now the spy. Her conscience made her pause. Should she really pass on secret Order information? Snape wouldn't likely be able to assist in anything they decided to undertake, so what good would it do to tell him?

If it served nothing else than for the poor man's peace of mind, it would be worth it, Hermione decided. It would be a relief to know that his information was being acted upon, that some good was resulting from him yet.

She had just settled into her covers and closed her eyes when her sickle burned anew. She reached under her pillow for where she stashed her wand and lit it, pulling the chain out from under her nightdress to inspect it.

_'__**Potion?**__' _it read.

Hermione was surprised that this missive should have come a whole half-hour after their conversation had ended. What was more, he knew that if there had been any problem with it, she'd have contacted him immediately. She did so even when there _wasn't_ a problem, just as an excuse to keep in contact.

Actually, it had been a few days since she'd mentioned it, she realised. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to her frequent and often unnecessary updates. Perhaps he enjoyed the opportunity to discuss potions, for while he'd clearly hated _teaching _the subject, it was evident that he was devoted to the art itself.

She answered him, and all the other questions he had about it, such as its precise shade, viscosity, temperature, odour and a host of other characteristics.

Then he asked (in an abbreviated way, of course, due to the limited space on the coin) if she needed any ingredients, to which she kindly (and briefly) extended her thanks, and informed him she didn't require anything at present.

He enquired after the state of her cauldron, her stirring rods, mortar and pestle, and even of Myrtle's bathroom.

At that point, she became concerned at his prolonging the conversation. All evidence heretofore had shown that he liked to keep his words, and time spent in her company, to a minimum. Feeling that something must be wrong, she asked, '_You alright?'_

While his answers until that point had been prompt, this time it took a while for him to reply.

When he did, she was disappointed.

She didn't know why she was disappointed, though. Had she actually expected him to answer, '_I'm wretched and miserable, how are you?'_ Of course not. It would also quite unlike him to answer, _'I'm fine,'_ which sounded altogether too positive a statement for the dour Potions master to make. Of course he _would_ have replied in some snarky or sarcastic way.

When one asks '_How are you?' _they aren't expecting a reply like, '_I'm busy,'_ but that's all the answer Hermione got.

What a fine way to completely sidestep the question. Not for a moment did she believe he was _actually_ busy. If he had been, he wouldn't bother wasting time coining her at all. He just didn't want to answer the question.

Fair enough, it had been rather unnecessary and intrusive… for Snape at any rate. To any normal person, it would have been a perfectly acceptable enquiry.

She was probably the only person who was foolish enough to even ask. Hermione was struck by the idea of an experiment. She would ask him every time they communicated, and see if she could ever get a more personal response. She would treat him as she would anyone else, and begin conversations with 'How are you?' instead of, 'Should the salamander livers be steeped in the Re'em blood?'

She decided to reply to his curt answer with another question he would doubtlessly find annoying and to which she already knew the answer.

_Anyth I cn do?_

Of course, the answer was _**No**_.

Since Hermione never did anything by halves, she resisted the urge to retort, '_of course you don't need the help of just a little girl,_' (which wouldn't have fit anyway) and replied simply, '_Ok. Take care.'_

She'd never ended the conversation that way before either. Usually when there was nothing left to say, it simply stopped, no farewells or parting pleasantries. Well, Hermione decided to be pleasant from now on, and if he didn't like it…

Well, he'd never been shy about voicing what displeased him, not to her, anyway. If it bothered him enough he'd tell her to stop, and she would.

She received no further reply.

.

When Professor McGonagall was handing back corrected essays the next day, there was a note attached to her Outstanding paper.

To summarise, it said that it was too risky for Hermione and the boys to leave the castle to attend the Order meeting that night. After she'd read it, the words of the note disappeared to be replaced with comments about her essay.

Needless to say, Hermione, Ron, and Harry told the other Gryffindors to go on without them as Hermione (as per usual) wanted to have a word with the Transfiguration teacher about her paper.

The moment the classroom door was closed, locked, silenced and warded, all three students let out a barrage of complaints, expressing their indignation and refusal to be left out.

The battle was long and hard-won, but won nonetheless, and Professor McGonagall reluctantly told them when and where it was.

"Don't worry, Professor. We can get there," they assured her.

Now their only problem was making sure they actually _could_.

They holed up in the dormitory to discuss how best to get to the Hogshead. Secret passages were either guarded by Filch, or came out in inconvenient locations. Popping into the cellar of Honeydukes was fine in third year, but this time it would be in the dead of night and the shop would be closed. The chances of getting out undetected were slim. They could fly directly from the window, an idea Hermione wasn't too keen on, or they could take their chances walking the whole way there under the Invisibility Cloak, or they could try their chances with the passage under the Whomping Willow, hoping no one would notice the sudden calm in its habitual flailing branches. They were still mulling over other ideas when Neville walked in. Catching a snippet of their conversation, he said, "I know how you could do it…"

.

'_Well done, Neville,_' Hemione thought, impressed, only to hear Harry voice the same sentiment aloud. He had led them to the Room of Requirement. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had gone in after him to find the room had provided them with a portrait.

"That there leads directly to a room in the upstairs of the Hogshead."

At first, Hermione was sceptical. How could a portrait help get them anywhere? It wasn't until Neville jumped _inside_ the painting and started walking down a corridor that all three jaws dropped simultaneously.

"Brilliant!" Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if too awed to be any louder. He poked his head inside the portrait and looked around. "Absolutely _brilliant!_"

"Oh, _thank you_ Neville," Hermione said breathlessly. She was certain this would make things much easier.

It was still hours before the meeting, so back at the dormitory they took Neville into their complete confidence. Well, _almost_ their complete confidence. They told him that they were going to an underground meeting with a group Dumbledore had set up.

"The Order of the Phoenix, you mean?" he asked, unsurprised.

"Yes," said Harry. "You know of it?"

"Of course I know if it. Gran listens to Potterwatch, just like everyone else. Everyone loves the Order. Hoping they'll do something soon."

It was obvious Hermione wasn't the only one who hadn't heard of this 'Potter Watch' for Harry and Ron looked equally confused.

"What?" Harry asked, bemused.

"Potterwatch!" said Neville. "Don't tell me you don't know about Potterwatch."

Harry frowned at Neville.

"It's a programme of Fred and George's on the wireless. They discuss issues about the war, but they don't give out their names or location or anything. It's obvious to anyone who's been in Gryffindor, though. It's kept very secret. They even air on different places and at different times. It's like a floating bulletin on the war… with their own opinions and jokes thrown in, of course."

"Those gits! They never tell me anything!" Ron sputtered angrily.

"Maybe we could get a wireless in our room," suggested Neville. "Don't know how, though… Not like it could be sent by owl, or Gran would have sent one long ago."

Two slow knocks, followed by the quick ones heralded Ginny's arrival.

"Gin! D'you know about Fred and George's radio programme?" Ron demanded of his sister.

"Potterwatch? Yeah. The Creevey brothers listen to it faithfully. Everyone goes into their rooms the nights it's on."

This was all too much for Ronald, who reddened with indignation. Harry didn't seem too pleased either, that everyone seemed to know about it but them. Perhaps everyone took it for granted that 'Potter' would know about 'Potterwatch.'

Ginny used her magical influence to calm both Harry and her brother, at which time Harry told her in hushed tones of their plans for that evening. Hermione considerately pulled Ron off to have an early dinner, and, tactfully, Neville followed them out too, leaving the couple alone.

.

It was a simple matter getting to the Room of Requirement, what with the Cloak and Map at their disposal.

The entire Order was stupefied to see the three of them pop out of the portrait on the wall in the upstairs room of the Hogshead. Fred and George, alone with the other available Weasleys were there. Ron immediately went to them while Harry and Hermione went to the man who took up half the entire corner.

Hagrid was no longer allowed _in _the castle and they were no longer allowed _out_, which made visiting him rather problematic. Seeing him was such an unexpected pleasure. Of course, seeing him at an Order meeting wasn't unexpected, but they didn't realise just how much they missed the half-giant until he greeted them all with his ever booming voice and bristly-bearded hugs.

Hermione's smile faded when she saw Aberforth Dumbledore. She'd met the proprietor of the Hogshead, but it had never really clicked that he was Dumbledore's brother and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. How did he handle his brother's death? The few times she'd ever seen him, he'd worn a grumpy and unpleasant expression. Nothing had changed, and she couldn't tell if there was any new unhappiness there in his aged face, but then again, Snape didn't show anything either.

While she paid rapt attention to the meeting, and even participated in lively debates, Hermione constantly looked back at Aberfoth Dumbledore, wondering…

.

The moment the boys and Ginny were asleep in their beds, Hermione instantly sickled Snape.

_Meeting over._

_**Report.**_

There was simply too much to tell using the coin, so she said, '_Meet me.'_

She waited for a short time where she could feel his indecision clear across the castle.

Finally, he responded. '_**30 min. Use map.'**_

He must not have known a good place for the meeting off the top of his head, and was setting off to look for one. She was to note his location on the Marauder's Map in half an hour, and meet him there.

Immediately, she took out the map and looked for him. He was leaving his office, descending staircases and stalking down corridors, pausing in front of rooms and either going in or passing them by.

He finally settled on a spot and Hermione rose from her bed. Gathering the Cloak around her, she went to him.

"How are you?" she asked stubbornly when she entered the large unused supply cupboard he'd chosen for their rendezvous.

This time he completely ignored the question, and asked sternly, "What news?"

"They want to evacuate the castle. Get all the Muggle-borns out and into safe houses. Different teams are working on finding and preparing locations. Minerva is going to enlist the help of Professors Flitwick and Sprout to help her smuggle the students out. There are only a dozen or so left, anyway. Their biggest concern is… well… you. You and the Carrows."

His lips thinned into a severe line, as if forcibly stopping himself from saying something he oughtn't.

"When I have the exact details, I'll let you know so you can help the operation run more smoothly."

He nodded. "What about everyone else?"

"As well as contacting all the Muggle-borns we know personally, to warn them and suggest they go into hiding, Fred and George are going to make an announcement on their show."

He frowned darkly, as if the idea of making a public announcement disturbed him deeply. "Show?"

"It's a programme of Fred and George Weasley's on the wireless. It's sort of a way that the Order gets information out to other people, though secretly. And the code changes every time, so unless you listened the last time, you won't know what channel to tune into. I can get you the code."

The crease in his brow did now smooth out, and he took his chin in his hand as he thought things over. Those long legs of his looked very much like they wanted to pace but were denied by the lack of space.

"Any additions? Suggestions?" she prompted.

He offered a few helpful ideas about logistics before they fell into what Hermione could only describe as an awkward silence.

She cleared her throat and searched her mind for something to say.

"I, er… noticed that you never use the secret passages," she commented, as if casually, though the atmosphere hardly lent itself to flippant remarks, nor did the man. He was looking at her so intently (the meagre wand light so dramatic) that she swallowed hard, finding it difficult to continue, though his expression insisted she do.

"I thought, perhaps I'd show them to you. On the map, of course," she added hastily. She didn't want him to think she was foolish enough to suggest they go traipsing through the castle corridors together.

With a very delicate sticking charm, she affixed it to the wall and they spent 30 minutes standing side by side, going over the map, Hermione pointing out all the secret passages for him to commit to memory. She had no doubt he would put the knowledge to good and immediate use.

.

Another three days passed, and every evening she asked Snape, _'When law?'_ The disheartening reply was always, '_Uncertain_.'

This law was hovering, moving nearer to them each day with a speed Hermione had no idea how to calculate? How much time did they have? How soon was soon? Tomorrow? Two weeks? A month? Even a year would be soon to Hermione.

She'd been so preoccupied getting things accomplished before the law was passed that she'd barely given any thought to what she'd do after. Hermione didn't much like the idea of sitting in a safe house and contributing nothing. She was a member of the Order, and Harry was her friend; she needed to be there for him. Her mind returned to wondering _when_ all this would come to pass.

"Leave the spying to the spy, Granger," Hermione muttered to herself, when a plan hatched in her head, and not at all a good one at that. And yet she couldn't shake it. So, in the next Magical Hierarchy class, she put it into action, which was, quite possibly, both the most brilliant and stupidest thing she'd ever done…

x

'_What has she done now?'_ Severus thought angrily, though he'd be lying to himself if he denied feeling any concern for the girl. It wasn't Filch this time, but Alecto herself in charge of her detention, as the Carrow woman was all too happy to point out. Severus was only too aware that while the Boy Who Lived was protected by the Dark Lord's edict, there was nothing stopping Carrow from completely destroying the boy's Muggle-born best friend.

Severus arrived at the dungeon early, knowing that Potter and Weasley would soon be there as well under that Cloak of Invisibility.

…

Severus had seen many people tortured before. Most times, they couldn't wait to pass out, to make it all end, for the pain to be over, but Granger was purposefully trying to stay conscious. He could tell by the determined shaking of the head whenever her eyes began to roll back a bit. Oftentimes, it was pride that drove the few people who fought against fainting. Severus wanted to tell Granger to swallow her pride and just end it. Let it go. She'd had more than enough. Resisting is what did in the Longbottoms. Had they just allowed themselves to pass out, they wouldn't have lost their minds.

She didn't need to lose her wits over this. He didn't want her to. _'Use your __O__cclumency, girl,' _he pleaded silently. '_Protect that cherished mind of yours._'

Each time there was a pause between curses, Granger would ask a question. The insufferable girl was always asking questions and Severus wished now more than ever that she'd stop, as the only response she continued to get from Carrow was an insult and another bout of torture.

"This is what you get for being a mudblood," said Carrow.

"It might be a shame to be a Muggle-born, but it's not a crime!" Granger croaked back.

"This time next week, it will be, you filthy little mudblood!" Carrow shouted back triumphantly, bits of angry spittle spewing from her mouth and into Granger's face.

As if having finally achieved what she wanted, the Gryffindor girl sighed and gave up trying to remain conscious.

It was then Severus learned exactly what she'd been doing… and he could have throttled her himself for it.

Carrow watched the unconscious girl for a time, an angry sneer on her lips, before spitting on the prone form, giving her a kick, and leaving the dungeons.

Severus stayed motionless, waiting for the moment he knew would come. Sure enough, only a few moments later, two boys appeared at the girl's side, looking concerned.

"How bad, d'you reckon?" asked the redhead.

"She'll know best. Let's ask," replied Potter. "_Ennervate!_"

The girl roused, but only to consciousness. She did not try to even sit up. Severus understood perfectly why that was. He was no stranger to the after-effects of the Cruciatus.

"Mione!"

"Hermione, how bad is it? How are you? Tell us what to do," insisted Potter.

Her voice shook as she answered. "Could you wait outside for a minute or two?" she asked weakly, still lying on the floor.

"We're not leavin'you, Mione," said Weasley, brushing her wild hair out of her face.

"Just for a moment to let me clean myself up a bit," she said. "I'm a mess, I'm not getting up until you're out of the room… _Please_."

At this, the boys predictably grew uncomfortable. "All right, but we'll be waiting just outside the door," said Weasley.

"Send us a Patronus if you need help with anything. I mean it," added Potter. "Anything."

"Thanks," she breathed. The boys disappeared under the Cloak once more. Severus watched as the dungeon door opened and closed conspicuously.

For a time she didn't move at all, and Severus thought she might have passed out again.

"Are you there?" she whispered, proving his suspicions incorrect.

Severus removed the Disillusionment Charm and walked across the room to crouch down beside her.

"You did that on purpose," he accused, though it came out rather more softly than he'd meant.

"I had to know," she whispered apologetically. After a pause, she asked, "Do you think it really will be within the week?"

Severus didn't want to reward her egregious behaviour by informing her that he did believe her ridiculous plan had succeeded and that she'd tricked Carrow into revealing the existence of the law _and_ when it would be put into effect, but seeing her crumpled and twitching on the floor in obvious pain, he couldn't quite bring himself to abuse her further... yet.

"I believe it likely," was his guarded reply. "Did those dunderheaded friends of yours know about this foolish plan?"

At this, she turned her face away from him, still not making any attempt to rise. "Of course not. As if they would have let me." For once, Severus approved of the boys' attitude. "I know it's hypocritical. If Harry or Ron had wanted to do this, I would have been furious and tried to stop them."

"So you acted on your own and simply didn't tell them," he remarked acerbically. She might at least have told _him_. Not that he wouldn't have forbidden it as well.

"I don't tell them a lot of things." This statement, so soft as to be almost inaudible, froze Severus in his course to berate her. Yes, he was all too aware of the many secrets Granger kept from her two friends. "I just… _needed to know_."

"We could have found a better way," he admonished.

"I didn't want to ask more of you, put you at risk. This…" She tried to wave a weak hand, indicating the dungeons, the detention. "Was the quickest way I could think of."

It was about as subtle as a Gryffindor could be; a screaming torture session. Though Severus had to admit, the getting of the information had been seamless, flawless, so fluid and natural it hadn't appeared to be intelligence gathering at all. Anyone looking on wouldn't have caught it. There were no whispered questions or wheedling to get information, no promises of returning favours, of procuring this bit of potion for that bit of information. It had been exactly what it had looked like. A detention. Only the girl and he knew it had been something more.

"You couldn't have known it would have worked. If it hadn't, then it would have all been for nothing. There have to be limits to self-sacrifice," he told her sternly. One simply couldn't fling themselves into any dangerous and unstable situation without any personal regard to personal safety. That was simply unwise. That was bad tactics. That was… that was Gryffindor all over.

She turned her head to face him, tearstains tracking down her cheek and her eyes glowing with pain, pride, resolution, and even a touch of amusement. "That's the pot calling the cauldron black." A faint smile ghosted her lips. "Looks like I'm not alone in the hypocrisy department."

Severus was saved the trouble of forming a suitable response by a gentle knock at the dungeon door.

"That's the boys. I better go." She pushed herself first onto her knees, before using his shoulder as a prop to stand up completely. He was relieved to see she didn't need the 'cleaning up' she had led the boys to believe, but her legs were definitely shaky. He just managed to stop himself from taking her by the elbow to steady her. If she could balance and walk by herself, all the better. Severus had never had someone help _him_ after the Cruciatus, and he believed that had made him stronger.

_Stronger? Or simply more callous? _

Clenching his teeth in reluctant resignation, he took her elbow. "Do you require something for the pain?" he asked.

"Whether I need it or not, I can't have one," she responded, wincing with each step, clinging gratefully to his arm.

True, the Carrows had caught on that the Hospital Wing matron was sympathetic towards tortured students. Since Amycus was the new Potions master, he'd stopped brewing pain relieving potions and healing salves for open wounds, and Madam Pomfrey's stores had rapidly been depleted due to the increasing number of detentions.

"I have my own private store," he informed her.

She looked at him hopefully, but her expression fell. "I'm in no condition to go sneaking about the castle to pick it up."

That was true enough, Severus had to allow. He was hardly about to pop into Gryffindor Tower to give it to her either. He couldn't Summon the draught; it was protected with a number of wards and spells he needed to be there personally to undo.

"What about that cat of yours?" he suggested. If it was as clever as she claimed, it might be up to the task. It had sought, found, and brought his mistress the Marauder's Map, after all.

Standing in front of the door, hand poised to open it, he froze, waiting for her response. "Crooks?" Her eyes brightened, understanding what he meant.

"Send it to my office," he told her, putting the Disillusionment Charm back on and opening the door.

She slipped out, or perhaps tripped out would have been a better description, no doubt into the waiting arms of her two friends.

x

"Better off than I was," Harry said encouragingly as they helped her hobble back to Gryffindor tower. Actually, she did very little of the hobbling herself. With her right arm slung over Ron and her left around Harry, they did most of the work for her, holding her by the arms and waist. She had to go through the semblance of walking, putting one foot in front of the other. They carried nearly all of her weight.

"You had it worse than I did," she retorted. Actually, she had no idea if this were true. She had no idea how long she'd been under the Cruciatus. Each time Carrow had cast it, it had felt like hours. Similarly, when she'd been watching Harry screaming and writhing on the ground, she'd thought _that _had gone on forever too. Still, it stood to reason that he'd had the harder time of it. He couldn't walk afterwards, and she could (though only with help.) Harry had been mostly out of it, hadn't been able to talk. But that's because he'd bitten his tongue through, she reminded herself.

"Dunno about that," said Harry, looking at her with true empathy. He knew just how much her whole body ached and shook. How bone-deep the exhaustion went, the stinging in her lungs whenever she took in a breath, and the sharp pain when she didn't. The back of her eyes throbbed and everything felt impossibly heavy yet precariously frail. He must have known how desperately she just wanted to lie down right there on the floor and sleep for days.

Using Disillusionment and Silencing charms, they finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower. It was even more difficult to stay awake when she was in such a soft and comfortable bed. Actually, she knew from past nights that the bed wasn't all that luxurious, but at that moment, it was as if she'd never felt anything nicer.

Harry and Ron had left to tell McGonagall what they'd heard Carrow let slip as soon as they'd tucked her in (a sweet but altogether unnecessary gesture) and Hermione had explained to Crookshanks what he was to do. At least she wouldn't have to get out of bed to go open the portrait hole, she reflected with gratitude. Familiars had their own secret ways of getting in and out of the house dormitories. She'd read that in _Hogwarts, a History_.

She admitted, she was nodding off when Crookshanks hopped up onto her bed and dropped a dead rat in her lap. She thanked Crooks for the gift by scratching his ears (as she always did before Vanishing it the moment her familiar was gone) and pointing her wand at the deceased rodent, she muttered a quiet '_Finite Incantatem._' Instantly, it changed into a potion bottle whose cork she quickly popped and contents first sniffed, then quaffed.

She could breathe again, her eyes didn't seem to scratch when she blinked, and her whole body felt lighter. Of course, the residual ache was still there, and would continue for a few days according to Madam Pomfrey, but it was an enormous improvement. She'd just managed to message Snape a '_Thank you'_ using her sickle before she fell asleep, so it was just as well he didn't reply.


	16. Much Ado About Memories

**Chapter 16: Much Ado about Memories**

_Meet me._

It was the day following her detention. Rather, it was the next night, as the boys had gone to bed an hour before she sent Snape the message. She had had a special meeting with Minerva that day, helping to plan the Muggle logistics of transportation for the Muggle-born evacuation, so she not only needed to update him on the plans, but also consult him about the potion. It was legitimate this time, no mere question out of politeness. She was at an actual dead-end, and couldn't proceed any further without the Potions master.

_**30 min. Use map.**_

_No. Potion room. _Which was really a pleasanter way of saying 'Myrtle's bathroom.' Hermione had placed an 'Out of Order' sign on the door, and charmed it not to open.

When she was certain he'd had enough time to read the first message (but not enough time to send a cutting reply) she sent another.

_Psswrd: __Haliwinkles_

Hermione waited for a time, expecting a confirmation message. When after ten minutes no such missive came, she checked the map only to find he was already on his way there.

Grunting, Hermione pushed herself off the bed and hurriedly (and quietly) stole from the room. He was certainly going to beat her there and she really would have preferred being there first. Not that her work-station was untidy. It was, of course, well- hidden and kept in good form, but she just _knew_ that he'd find something negative to say about it. Hermione was no stranger to criticism, at least, not when it came to her former Potions teacher, but things were certainly coming to a head, and she didn't feel like she could take _gratuitous_ abuse just now. Unless there really was something wrong with it, she'd prefer _not_ to be insulted.

It was ridiculous, she knew it was. She'd put up with Malfoy's taunts for several years now and she'd never allowed it to bother her. Well, not after the first few times at any rate. Yet for some reason, today when Malfoy had said, "You'll get what's coming to you, mudblood," it affected her. She hadn't been offended, but it did make her feel absurdly vulnerable. She was struggling to keep everything together; the Order plans for the Evacuation, keeping Harry and Ron in line, and keeping herself from falling apart as well. These secrets were weighing heavily on her, and she wasn't used to keeping such important things from them and she felt the pressure acutely from all sides.

She wanted to avoid all unnecessary insults, as one well-placed barb from Snape might send her bursting into tears. Needless to say, she was desperate for that _not_ to happen. She didn't want to appear to be some over-wrought child… even if she was.

She checked the map, noting Filch's location and decided that secret passages wouldn't be necessary, and that the direct route would be much quicker. She didn't want to keep him waiting.

She carefully slipped inside the girls' bathroom. Snape, who had been inspecting the potion he'd already taken down the wards for, spun round immediately, his wand pointed at her.

"It's me," she declared, letting the Cloak drop.

Only after a few moments of intense glaring did he lower his wand. Hermione, however, was still frozen to the spot.

He was just so fast. So incredibly tense, so alert and so… so certain that someone would attack him if he gave them the slightest opportunity. In any other person, Hermione would claim it was gross paranoia, but with Snape, she could only sadly admit it was practical defence against a very real threat. Hermione was well in a position to know, having found him after such an attack. There had been so much blood in the corridor, a harbinger of what she would find in the classroom where the Map had said Snape had been. Hermione remembered thinking at that moment that he might have been dead already, but she reminded herself that Map only showed live persons.

She swallowed hard and continued into the bathroom, sitting down next to the cauldron by which he stood. "I met with Professor McGonagall today. We've decided Friday is the best night for the Evacuation, as it's less likely the Carrows will notice they are gone until classes Monday morning, by which time they will be long gone."

Snape nodded, which she took to mean that she should continue.

Pulling out the map, she did so. "Now this isn't definite, we'll have to go over the plan again once Professors Flitwick and Sprout have been told the particulars, but as it stands, Professor Sprout will go to the dungeons around 11 o'clock, same for Professor Flitwick and Ravenclaw tower. It will be the first the students know of it. We decided we couldn't risk telling them beforehand because word would get out. They would tell their friends, the word would spread. It's just too risky." She cleared her throat and continued. "They will pack what they can in half an hour and then use this passage—" She pointed to the map. "To get them into Hogsmeade. Same with Professor Flitwick, except he will be taking this secret passage down…" She slid her finger across the length of the Map. "And take this one out of the castle. Using Madam Hooch's training brooms, we'll fly to Duff town, where we will take a bus to London. Order members will meet the bus there and take everyone to their respective safe houses."

"There is a bus from Duff town to London at that hour?" he asked sceptically.

"No. I've hired a charter specifically for the purpose. I sneaked into Hogsmeade after classes today and used the telephone. With Professor McGonagall's permission, naturally."

"Who is accompanying the students for that part of the journey?" he enquired.

"Me, of course. All the Heads of Houses can't go missing for over 24 hours, what if their other students need them? Besides, they don't know anything about Muggle transportation and would only arouse suspicion. We are all of us perfectly capable of handling ourselves in Muggle Britain. Only if we encounter Death Eaters would there be any trouble, but the only way we would is if they know about our plan and are prepared to intercept us… in which case I doubt having a teacher there would do much good anyway."

She had a headache just thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong, and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her eyes. "The hardest part is getting them from the dormitories to the nearest secret passages unnoticed."

"Leave that to me," said Snape. Hermione nodded gratefully.

"I fully intend to. Now, are there any other protections on the castle that we should know about? Any watch or wards that the Carrows might have put up that could hinder us? I know that there is nothing to alert them if a student goes off campus using the passages, or I'd have set it off this afternoon."

Snape shook his head. "The doors and exits and gates are being monitored, and the passages the Filch knows about. Nothing on these." He too pointed to the tunnels on the Map they intended to use. Hermione sighed with relief and closed her eyes briefly in gratitude.

"Hopefully that's that, then," she sighed. "Can't wait until it's actually done and everyone's safe. Families are being mobilised the same day as well, just in case someone notices that they've all gone missing and gets ideas that the Muggle-borns themselves are soon to follow."

She didn't know if he nodded in approval or not, as she was still rubbing her eyes. They were still sore from the previous night's detention. The general ache was still there, minimal shaking, but the worst part was definitely the throbbing behind her eyes.

SS

She was only a little girl, he realised. Yes, he'd shouted at her similar insults before, but they had been meant to be just that, hurtful insults. He hadn't really doubted her ability. But looking at her now, seeming so small and so tired, rubbing her eyes in a clumsy way, it was all too obvious. There was far too large a strain upon her small shoulders. He'd always taken her for granted. She just always seemed to have this appalling energy and willingness to do anything anyone asked of her.

_Damn Dumbledore_, he thought bitterly. Using children to fight a war. For all that he loathed Potter, Weasley, and Granger, he still couldn't condone making them suffer and fight in a war. But that had been Dumbledore's plan, and unfortunately, Severus didn't have a better one. Granger would just have to buck up, as she had no other choice but failure.

Seeing as he knew she'd avoid _that_ at all costs, no matter what the context, he felt secure that she wouldn't simply give up one day and shirk her responsibilities.

Was a child with the maturity, responsibilities and pressures of an adult still a child, despite appearances?

He looked at Granger again and suddenly the image was gone. She'd shaken herself awake, alert. Her eyes were open and once again intensely focussed. "Right, as I'm sure you've already noticed," here she gave him a nod of confidence, "the potion's fully cured."

HG

It was certain to get awkward at this point, but Hermione pressed on. Either they added virgin blood, as she'd extemporised in her notes, or they used an old ancient spell that she didn't like the sound of at all. She'd rather not use either, but as it was useless without it, they had no choice.

After an intensely uncomfortable conversation, in which Snape had informed her that cutting her finger and letting the wound drip into the cauldron was not the kind of blood the potion required, he suggested the spell that would activate the potion, so to speak.

"But it's... it's Dark Magic, sir," said Hermione, a bit stricken from the previous conversation and also at the prospect of using ancient and evil arts on a potion she would eventually give to Harry.

He gave her the most apathetic look. "And, as all know, we Death Eaters are renowned for being reluctant to use the Dark Arts," he replied sarcastically.

Hermione felt stupid, not a common or comfortable feeling for her. Of course, Professor Snape was probably the most infamous Death Eater in existence; he killed Albus Dumbledore. He would hardly get squeamish and bow out of the project because it involved Dark Arts. In fact, all things considered, there wasn't a better person to assist her with this. A dark wizard with good intentions… for all that they seemed to teeter back and forth when it came to Harry.

"Of course, sir. I'll leave the spell work to you then, shall I?" He regarded her dispassionately but didn't say anything, so she added cheekily, "Or would you consider that 'foolish wand waving?"

She didn't know what had prompted her to say that but it was too late now. Un-amused, Professor Snape said, "_I'll_ do it." Then added under his breath, "_Insufferable know-it-all._"

She grinned, not hurt by the insult in the slightest and rather proud of herself for making light of a situation that could easily have turned ugly.

Little did she know just how ugly it was going to get, despite her best efforts.

SS

She was horrified, but was too well-mannered to express it in front of him. Granger was disgusted, afraid, just this side of fleeing from the room. Only stubbornness and respect (though Severus could barely admit it even in his own mind) kept the girl where she was. In fact, it would have been far more disturbing had she not been bothered by it. It had been a rather gruesome spell.

"That was absolutely ghastly," she commented, striving for casualness but missing the mark. Her face, had gone from flushed, to pale, to its current sickly green.

Severus only grunted in reply, letting her translate it any way she wished.

"What… what was it like? Casting it, I mean," the girl asked hesitantly. He ought to have expected this, should have known she wouldn't be able to restrain herself from asking questions.

Severus refused to tell her that casting dark magic was probably the most invigorating magical experience a witch or wizard could have, the greatest rush, the ultimate high, so he simply said nothing, hoping that his lack of response would lead her to assume that the casting of dark magic was just as 'ghastly' as it looked. Of course, it came with a price; at the cost of the caster, which was why he hadn't let her do it.

"Well," she carried on, aware that she wasn't going to get an answer. "Now all we need is a bit of Harry," she said optimistically.

His lips curled in a line of disgust at the thought of 'bits' of Potter. Unlike many ingredients for more elemental potions, there was no clear manner in which the bit of Potter needed to be taken, apart from when on the lunar calendar. Severus was familiar with the magic that had brought the Dark Lord back to the corporeal realm; blood of the servant _willingly given_, blood of the enemy _forcibly taken_ etc. He only hoped that it didn't matter how it was taken, so long that it was when the moon was new.

"How do you intend you getting a hold of Potter's bits?" he asked with a sneer.

She gave him a look of distinct disapproval as to how that sounded. "Same way I imagine you would get mine, should you need them." She saved him the trouble of working out that baffling comment by adding succinctly, "By _asking_, of course." She rolled her eyes in a manner Severus had seen her use on Potter and Weasley on countless occasions. Needless to say, it was highly insulting.

"It disturbs me to think Potter would part with his own blood so frivolously," he scoffed.

She glared at him again. "Of course Harry doesn't go around giving his blood to anyone who wants it," she snapped. "But I _am_ his best friend, after all. He trusts me. _Trust_," she repeated, as if uncertain he even knew the word. "Many protective charms involve blood magic. They won't think anything of it. I was going to make us talismans for us anyway. Every little bit helps, right? I was thinking of putting mine on this." She pulled on a chain round her neck and withdrew something from under her shirt. He didn't actually see what it was, in fact he found himself looking away from the region entirely, no doubt the result of a strong Notice-Me-Not charm. It was a strange reaction, as usually people didn't try to call direct attention to objects hidden by that enchantment. It was a strange awareness of nothing.

"If you want me to see whatever it is you are trying to display, you'd best remove the charm you've put on it," he drawled.

"Oh. Right." A moment later, he found his eyes could finally go where directed and he saw the silver sickle dangling from the chain. By doubly concealing it like that, once under her robes where no one was liable to see it, and once again with the Notice-Me-Not, no doubt Granger though she was protecting it from the wrong hands. However, any dark wizard worth his salt would detect the magic and become even more suspicious of it than if she just carried it like the rest of her coins. They wouldn't look twice at an ordinary sickle, but one that was charmed and hidden would immediately catch their attention.

On the other hand… in a school environment, where belongings were tossed and scattered about in dorms and perhaps _borrowed _without permission, it might be wiser to keep her sickle as she did.

Unthinkingly, he had put his hand in his pocket and begun to rub his own sickle idly, as had become his habit in recent weeks, only to look over and see her doing something similar, rubbing the spot on her jumper beneath which she had re-hidden it.

Severus became lost in his own quiet thoughts and it was a while before he noticed a few tears were trickling down the girl's cheeks as if even she wasn't aware of them. Being Head of House, he was familiar with the various reasons that his female students cried, but he had never been much of a sympathetic ear. He didn't intend to start now, either, but he was a bit perplexed as to what had brought on this silent weeping.

He cleared his throat, bringing her out of whatever thoughts had her so entranced.

She looked at him expectantly, and he lifted a critical eyebrow, calling attention to her tearstained face. The eye-contact was brief, but he'd been able to scoop a few images off the surface of her mind. Memories of her own torture, of Potter's, and the image of himself, lying in a pool of his own blood waiting longingly for death to find him.

"Oh," she said, hastily wiping her face with her sleeve, unaware of the intrusion. "Sorry. My eyes still ache, that's all. I'm just… tired." Severus knew she wasn't referring to a fatigue that would go away simply by resting. He knew that some levels of exhaustion wouldn't go away even with weeks of sleep. Psychological fatigue was far more crippling than a physical one; Severus ought to know, as he suffered from both acutely. He just wanted everything to end. All of it. He just wanted to be finished. Be done with it, with everything.

"Are we finished here?" he asked coldly, sounding, he knew, suddenly cantankerous.

"Yes, I suppose we are." She pushed herself up off the floor from where she'd been sitting. "Thank you, sir. Goodnight," she said, patting his arm as she passed him. He recoiled slightly in reaction to the contact but he suspected she was too exhausted to notice.

_'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,'_ he heard her say. She inspected the map and must have decided that her path was clear, for she folded it away and flung out the Invisibility Cloak. Before draping it over herself, she took one last glance back at him.

"Take care, sir." She was about to duck into disappearance but an idea struck him and he called her back.

"Miss Granger," he said, being rather more polite than he had been in past weeks.

She stopped in her course to Cloak herself, and turned around curiously. He was already crossing the room as she asked, "Sir?"

"Permit me," he asked, though he didn't really wait to give her the chance to deny him as he took her chin in his fingers and dove into her eyes. He felt her raise her Occlumency shields, keeping only memories of classes on the surface for him to shuffle through.

"Let me see," he said softly, as if coaxing an injured person to show him a painful wound they were reluctant to uncover. To his slight surprise, she did just as he requested. Apparently she'd been telling the truth before, in that all he'd ever need to do was ask.

It wasn't difficult to find the memory he was searching for. He knew it mustn't be because he'd recently seen it himself. It was part of the reason she'd started weeping. When he'd brought the full image to the fore, he carefully brought his wand to her head.

"_Obliviate."_

Her mental defences insured that he wouldn't get anything else, but the surprise of the spell caught her off-guard, and she broke eye contact, ending his Legilimency. Before she had the time to catch on (with her quick mind that could take as little as seconds) he cast another quick Obliviate to remove her awareness of the last few minutes as well.

_"Somnus,"_ he whispered, and instantly, her legs crumpled beneath her and she dropped to the ground, quite asleep and unaware she'd hit her head.

Severus stood over the sleeping girl for a moment. The spell he'd cast needed no counter-curse, she would wake up in the usual manner, once she'd slept enough or when some outside stimulus forced her awake.

In this case, the outside stimulus was himself.

"Granger," he barked, slapping her face smartly but not hard on both cheeks. She started awake with a gasp, and Severus was pleased to note that the first thing she did was reach for her wand.

"What happened?" she asked. She'd lowered her wand from where it had been pointing at his chest and she reached up to put a hand to the back of her head.

"You collapsed," he said, frowning disapprovingly at her and looking thoroughly displeased. "You aren't holding up well to the strain, it would seem."

"I…" She frowned, looking both angry and disappointed. "I didn't know I was that weak," she admitted quietly.

Anyone who could take the Cruciatus like Granger couldn't be considered weak, but he couldn't very well tell her that, as it would undermine his cover story.

"Get back to your dormitory and rest," he commanded. "Clearly you need more time to recuperate than you've allowed yourself."

Hanging her head, she dutifully replied, "Yes, sir," and trudged to the door, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over her with less flourish than usual. He watched the door creak open as she must have slipped out. After a moment, he heard the double-knock, which had become the signal that the coast was clear for him to exit the girls' bathroom. He debated with himself for a moment before deciding he would do the prudent thing and leave then, rather than brood in the toilet for another hour, then leave after Granger would be good and gone.

Still, he stole quickly into the nearest secret passage, despite that it did not lead anywhere near his office. He wanted to get away from her and using a passage ensured she couldn't follow without him detecting it. Of course, he couldn't stop her from watching the Map, but he'd almost resigned himself that Granger would be able to know where he was at any time. In fact, he'd rather it be in her possession it than its rightful owner's.

Lately, he found himself stopping short of the castle doors when he wanted to wander the grounds, for the prickling feeling that Granger was watching and speculating about his habits.

It unnerved him, yet strangely kept him accountable for himself. He wasn't allowed to slip up and take himself off somewhere, to succumb to his own weakness because he never knew when she would show up and… keep him from bleeding to death.

That's why he'd Obliviated her; removed that memory from her mind. He hated that she'd seen him so defeated and defenceless. He hated that she seemed to replay that memory frequently and what was more, it disturbed him that it upset her as it did. Had he had his wand at the time (and the strength to actually cast the spell) he would have Obliviated her the moment he'd come to, that night he'd nearly died. If he had known she would revisit that memory and pity him, think little of him, he'd have done it sooner. But he hadn't had the wand or energy at the time and after that, the humiliation had been pushed aside as other matters pressed more urgently on his time.

Now it was gone. Now there were no witnesses to his weakness.

HG

She had dreaded the coming of that moment, when someone would see that she really wasn't good enough. She'd tried so hard that whole evening to keep her hands from shaking, to keep from yawning too much. She'd endeavoured not to let the Cruciatus get to her but she had failed miserably, and in front of Snape, no less, the one person for whom she most wanted to appear strong and competent.

The way he looked at her, the contempt on his face, the sneer at her weakness. She felt as if she'd proven herself undependable. Who would rely on a girl who faints in the face of adversity?

She shook her head, and noted with distress that it felt fuzzier than usual, even when tired. She really _must_ be out of it.

Feeling more useless and disappointing than ever, she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.

.

"Don't know why we even bother doing homework anymore," stated Harry. He and Hermione sat in front of the fire on one of the sofas in the common room, text books and rolls of parchment spread around them.

"Because we need to maintain appearances," she muttered, finishing the final sentence of her third paragraph with a satisfying full stop. Hermione doubted just as much as Harry that they'd actually complete the year, much less sit the N.E.W.T's, but if they all of a sudden stopped doing their work, it would become apparent to the Carrows (and other interested parties) that they planned on doing something else, be it go into hiding, or start planning for the final battle.

That and it kept Harry busy. If he wasn't given something to do, he'd take action for himself, and she couldn't trust him not to do something reckless. For all that he was entirely regretful over what had happened to Sirius, Hermione worried that Harry hadn't really learned anything from the experience. She admitted that she might have an easier job convincing him to wait if she told him about the Horcrux and the potion she was working on, but in the end, after every debate with herself, she always opted for silence until the potion was finished, which it should be in a week, when she could get his blood on the new moon and add it to the potion. That was the crucial element, as it would, in essence, let the potion know that Harry was the one _not_ to be destroyed, but the other part living within him.

The new moon would be _after_ the Muggle-born Law would be put into effect, she thought numbly. Her quill drooped as she stared intently at the fire. It had driven Sirius mad (or madder than he had been) having to hide from the world instead of actively helping… Yet Hermione knew that staying at Grimmauld place had been the best thing for him, despite his desire to be in the thick of things. Was she being hugely hypocritical yet again? She certainly had no intention of sitting idly by while other people did the work, not that anyone _knew_ that, save Harry and Ron. After the law was put into effect, she knew she couldn't attend classes anymore, but she could stay with Harry in the castle. With the Cloak and Map, she felt she could hide effectively, and the boys agreed.

Which brought her back to what to do with her parents. It was all well and good to take other parents to safe-houses; they would be with their children, well-protected and happy. It would be almost cruel to take her own parents and put them away in a place where they had nothing at all to do, nothing to distract them from the fact that there was a war going on and that their daughter, unlike all the other Muggle-born families there, was _not_ safe. They'd have nothing to do but worry.

She had a plan, and it broke her heart to even think about it, but she was convinced it was the right thing to do, considering the circumstances. She just needed to do a little more research.

She felt an arm go round her shoulder and pull her into a body of warmth. Harry.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, careful not to draw too much attention from the others in the common room. "And don't say 'nothing.' You don't tear up for no reason."

Hermione wondered when Harry had become so sensitive to others. She suspected that perhaps having a girlfriend had something to do with it, but either way, she wasn't complaining. Since he had started dating Ginny, he'd been much more willing to hug other people, show affection. Lately, that had been the means to diffusing many strained situations. Where once the three of them would break out into arguments and not speak for days (even weeks) it was as if everyone was more understanding and sympathetic. Even Ron, when he tried. Being hugged was much better than being snapped at; unfortunately his tenderness only caused her to cry more, however.

"I was thinking of my parents," she confessed.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

She nodded weakly. "I think so. But I need to read up a bit on a few things."

At this, Harry grinned broadly, his eyes twinkling in a fashion that was rare these days. "Sounds like a trip to the library is in order," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to help her to her feet. Hermione smiled, sniffled, and accepted his hand up, almost giggling with the absurdity of the image of Harry happily suggesting a trip to the library. It was so out of character it could only be amusing and heart-warming, as she knew he was doing it solely to cheer her up.

Still holding Harry's hand with her left, Hermione wiped her cheeks with her right before grabbing her bag. Harry had already crammed his half-written essay into his own and was gently tugging her away from the fireplace.

"Oi. What's this then?" asked a familiar voice. Clearly having just entered the common room, Ron stood next to Ginny, eyeing both Hermione and Harry with barely suppressed suspicion and anger.

"Going to the library," answered Harry easily, though with a slight disapproving challenge in his voice. Hermione caught Ginny's eye, and was relieved to see there was no suspicion in her gaze like her brother, merely concern. Hermione did her best to wipe away any lingering evidence that she'd been crying, but it only served to make Ginny look even more pitying.

It seemed as if there was going to be a stare off between the two boys, when the youngest Weasley stepped in.

"Just be sure you make it back before curfew," she reminded them needlessly, before crossing the small distance between them and kissing Harry on the cheek, a gesture that he automatically returned. "Feel better, Hermione," she added kindly.

"Thanks," she replied, and allowed herself to be tugged past a completely bewildered Ron out the portrait hole.

"What was that about?" she heard Ron demand of his sister.

"What did it look like, Ron?" was Ginny's exasperated reply. After that, the portrait hole swung shut and they heard no more.

"Is it all right to leave her to deal with him like that?" Hermione asked. Ginny had practically just 'outed' their relationship, and he had left her to deal with it by herself.

"She'll handle him better than I could," Harry admitted with no shame. "We've been talking about telling him anyway. I guess she decided now was as good a time as any."

Hermione appreciated that he ignored the awkwardness that Ron had assumed that she and Harry were together, and also that he had refrained from any comment about Ron's initial jealousy. At a later time when she was better able to examine that more closely, she would. Just at present, however, she couldn't bring herself to feel excited that Ron cared enough to be jealous. She had other things to worry about.

.

Hermione was in full research mode, reading up on memory magic as Harry completed his homework. What she really wanted was to find a way to remove memories entirely, so that other people couldn't see them, but able to be brought back at a later time. Unfortunately for Hermione, she came across no such spell. If she were to erase her parents' memories so that not even Death Eaters would find anything, it would mean having them forget forever that they'd ever had a daughter.

Still, she didn't give up hope entirely. She read and reread sections on dealing with Obliviated persons, how to detect if someone's memory has been tampered with. She frowned as she read that she exhibited many of the symptoms. She hadn't even realised it until she read it, but she did. It was a remarkably simple spell and she found herself muttering it out of mounting curiosity.

Her heart rate rocketed, her breathing stopped.

The spell had come back positive.

Her memory had been tampered with, and recently.

Hermione's mouth went so dry, and her heart was banging away so painfully in her chest, that she had a hard time telling Harry they needed to leave.

"Find everything you needed?" he asked.

"For now," she replied shakily.

He looked at her sympathetically. "I know it's not easy," Harry said. "Perhaps you can put away lots of your memories in a pensieve to show them after, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. That was actually a good idea if all else failed. Pity she was too panicked to appreciate it.

The first thing she did when she returned to Gryffindor tower was to head straight for the bathroom. She turned on the tap and quickly collected the outpouring water in her hands and brought it to her mouth, drinking it down. She took another scoop, and another, and once she felt her mouth was no longer made of cotton, she splashed some on her face.

She studied her reflection for a moment, face and hair dripping with water before she remembered the tap was still running.

She turned it off and went back to staring at herself.

Somewhere in her mind, something was missing. Perhaps something crucial. Hundreds of questions buzzed terrifyingly in her head but the two uppermost were 'Who did it?' and 'What is it that I don't remember?'

She had thought that she couldn't breathe at all, but actually saw that she was gasping for breath as if she'd just sprinted a great distance. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she felt her heart slow down as well, but the panic was still there. Her hands were shaky as she fumbled in her robes, trying to fish out the necklace that had the sickle.

She didn't even know what to say to him, she just knew she needed help, and without thinking, that's what appeared on the silver surface.

_Help!_

The reply was the swiftest she'd ever received.

_**Of course**_**.**

She breathed out, trying to marshal her scattered thoughts. She allowed herself to take immediate comfort in his prompt reply. It hadn't been a curt question, like 'What?' or even worse, something like 'I'm busy.' She'd asked for his help and not only had he immediately offered it, but implied that it was only natural that he would do so. Already she was feeling better, but only slightly. He was a master Legilimens, perhaps he could scour her mind for a time that was fuzzy. She knew she couldn't bring back the memory, but if she knew _when_ she'd lost it, she might be able to find out who had done it.

_Meet me._

_**When.**_

_ASAP_

It was after curfew by now. If anyone was awake to ask, she would tell them she was going to the Common Room to read. If they went down to check on her, well… she'd deal with that when she got back.

_**Where.**_

_Anywhere._

_**10 min. Use map.**_

The state of urgency seemed to be making her heart pound all over again. She hoped that he didn't think she was being ridiculous, or wasting his time by calling him out urgently only to complain to him about something he could do nothing for…

.

She rushed into the unused classroom and locked and warded the door behind her before she burst into nervous speech. "The whole evacuation could be compromised! I have to tell McGonagall. We have to change the plans, act tonight! Get them out some other way," she said as she paced in front of him.

"Compromised? How compromised?" he barked.

"Someone's been in my head!" she cried, throwing her arms into the air. "Or they might have been. I don't know. I can't remember! Someone has tampered with my memory and I don't know who or why or what they removed! Remember what I did to Cornfoot? What if someone's done that to me? I might have told someone everything about the evacuation or—" She gasped, only just realising. "I might have told them about you! I was so concerned about the Muggle-born law I didn't think. What if I gave you away? What are we going to do? What if they know about the potion! About the Horcruxes! I've ruined everything!"

She was working on tearing out her hair by the roots when heavy hands fell on her shoulders, halting her pacing and forcing her to stillness, though his thumbs pressed almost painfully above her collarbones. Actually, it was the pain that brought her back, that steadied her, not the gentle pressure on her shoulders. It was that steady pain that was somehow soothing now. It could reach her where reason could not.

"What makes you think someone has meddled with your memory?" he asked, voice as even and low as it ever was. It was the voice she often tried to emulate in order to appear soothing. It was what she considered 'The Snape Voice.'

Yes, panicking would do no good now. Better face it calmly and rationally. So, taking a deep breath in and slowly releasing it, she stepped away from him and brought her wand to her head and cast the charm she'd done in the library. Once again, it showed a positive result.

"See? I've been Obliviated. Recently. And I—" She almost lost her cool for a moment as her voice cracked. She tried again, this time at a whisper, so she didn't run the risk of her voice breaking again. "_And I'm afraid. Afraid for Harry, afraid for the __M__uggle__-__borns, and very afraid for you…_" she admitted, trying not to cry but not doing a very good job. It all seemed rather hopeless now. Whoever had done this might know everything, and all could be lost. "_I'm so sorry,_" she apologised, her shoulders and breaths shaking from trying to hold back tears. "_I've ruined everything._"

She had let everyone down, the entire Order, Muggle-borns and their families, Snape. She might very well have cost them the war because she hadn't been vigilant enough.

Hermione sank into a chair and hung her head, veritably drowning in self-loathing. "Maybe you will be okay. You can say you were using me to get to Harry, or something. You can hand me over yourself if you think that would do any good." She was doomed anyway. "But I can't see how we can get the Muggle-borns out now, if they are expecting it. Unless we act immediately, perhaps. Tonight. The bus isn't there but we wouldn't be able to use it anyway. Maybe fly all the way to London…" It was a testament to her distress that the thought of flying from Hogwarts to London didn't bother her. She began pulling at her hair again, growling and trying to force back the tears, which only caused a very painful lump in her throat. "I can't think. I don't trust my own head anymore."

It was silent for an excruciatingly long time, and Hermione waited for Snape to say something, anything. He could start ranting, bellowing, insulting her for all she cared. She deserved it. Instead he stayed pensively quiet.

"I suppose there is nothing else left to do," he said resignedly. Hermione's heart sank, if possible, even lower.

"I'm so sorry. I'll do anything_, anything_, that might help—"

"Quiet, you ridiculous girl, and let me speak," he snapped, bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. Obediently, she fell silent. He let out a huff of air that was almost a grunt and said, "You haven't revealed anything to anyone. Your secrets are safe."

"How can—?"

"_I_ Obliviated you."

That hit her like a slap to the face. "_You_?" she asked, feeling both relieved and betrayed.

He nodded, or rather, he curtly moved his head down once, staying down there so he could glare over his nose at her. "Last night."

"Was that when I fain—… I didn't faint, did I?"

He grunted. That was a no, then.

"Why?" she asked, indignation starting to bubble within her. She should be feeling relief above all things but the outrage of his perfidy was taking a growing precedence, amplifying when he stayed mulishly silent. "Tell me, you!" she demanded, unable to dignify him with a title. "What do you think gave you the right to meddle with my mind like that? What did you remove? You know how terrified I was? Do you know how close I came to running first to McGonagall? I could have ruined everything for nothing!"

"I know. Which is why, against my strongest inclinations, I've told you the truth."

"So you lie to me frequently?" she asked accusatorily.

"That's not what I said. Now if you are quite finished with your childish tantrum, I might explain."

Childish temper tantrum, was it? Fine. Hermione crossed her legs, folded her hands primly in her lap, and sat watching him expectantly. "An explanation would be appreciated," she said tartly, unable to keep from tapping a foot impatiently.

Snape was obviously agitated as well, and he stormed back and forth, his reluctance being patently obvious. Clearly this was getting them nowhere, so she decided to start asking leading questions.

"Does it have something to do with the Potion?"

"No," he growled.

"You-Know-Who?"

"No."

"The Carrows?"

"No."

"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked hesitantly.

"_No_," he replied firmly.

"Then what?"

"Nothing. It doesn't have anything to do with anything. You shouldn't have even been there…"

It was in that moment, when he looked so tired, almost defeated, that she very nearly felt sorry for him.

She stood, and ever so carefully, the pads of two fingers reached out to make the barest of contact with his cheekbone. _"Legilimens!"_

_Walking through a dark corridor at night, Snape turned a corner and __**snap!**__ At first the crack of the spell seemed only to disarm him, but a moment later he crumpled to the ground, bleeding from several places. Snape didn't seem disturbed, he merely crawled away into a nearby classroom, sighed, and with a whispered, 'At last,' he passed out. Everything was black for a time but she heard a __high-pitched__ voice talking at a rapid rate. It was a moment before she recognised the voice as her own. _

_ She watched as this 'other' Hermione tried to heal this 'other' Snape. _

_"… doing the best I can from theory. We can try your luck with Madam Pomfrey, if you think she'll help you. Though from what I've read, it looks as though it's working. I haven't any blood replenisher on hand but I'm sure there's some in the Hospital Wing so it might be worth a try to use a Summoning char—"_

_"You're babbling," he said._

_ "I know. I do that when I'm—oh. You've come round then. Accio!"_

_He huffed. "So it would seem." As the other Snape sat up__,__ the other Hermione put a bottle into his hand._

"_Here__,__ drink this."_

_The other Snape took her wand and tested it before downing the phial's contents._

_"Why are you here?" he asked sullenly. _

_"Well, nobody is ever left alone. It's part of our rules. Ron and I were under the Cloak for Harry's detention, just like the boys were for mine."_

_"What are you even doing here? I said not to come to me!"_

_"I was watching you on the map. When you stopped moving for a long time, I came down to see…"_

_His eyes narrowed at her threateningly. "You're _spying_ on me?"_

_She shook her head wildly, waving her hands up in front of her in negation. "No, of course not! In Gryffindor, everyone has a group. Each group should know where every other member is at all times. We even tell each other when we are going to the loo."_

_"I'm _not_ a _Gryffindor_," he pointed out with a snarl_.

_"Yes, sir, I know that, I just thought…" She faltered, sighed, and tried again. "I've chosen to trust you. Whatever is between you and Harry__,__ I've decided to leave to the two of you. And I haven't been _spying_ on you, sir. I've been keeping a watchful eye on the map just in case..."_

_"Just leave."_

_"Here, let me help you—" _

_"Don't touch me!" he snapped angrily_.

He must have pushed her out of his mind, because instead of looking at a memory, she was just staring into his eyes. He looked very sour indeed, and she understood why, perfectly.

Hermione swallowed, knowing that it would be up to her to speak first. Slytherins never spoke first.

"I… I can see why you didn't want me to remember that," she offered apologetically, her previous fury all but dissolved in face of this information.

Had that really been her, in the memory? It had seemed like a film, like she had been watching some scene acted out for her, moving, but unreal. Wouldn't she have remembered that if it had actually happened? Even with a memory charm put on her, surely she would have felt _something_. But as she watched, there had been no recognition, no spark of recollection. She felt no connection with the events she'd just witnessed.

He had been right. It didn't have anything to do with anything, and yet…

Hermione couldn't help but think that it had something to do with _something_, she just didn't know what. He had been angry with her at the time, and he was angry with her now, but why? Of course, anyone with a modicum of pride might dislike the thought of someone they dislike having seen them in a state of weakness and vulnerability, and she could understand why Snape, a Slytherin and a spy, would want that memory removed.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that her intervention had been unwelcome. Snape's obvious discomfiture seemed a result not of _seeing _him bleeding to death but more of _stopping_ him bleeding to death.

"Was that wrong of me?" she asked quietly. She didn't really expect a response and so wasn't surprised when he didn't give one. Even if it had been, she didn't regret it. He was badly needed alive.

"I never thanked you," he muttered disagreeably, like a child whose mother has forced him to apologise.

"You didn't have to," she replied earnestly. After an awkward pause, she said, "I'm sorry to have brought you out for nothing."

"It was a logical response," he allowed. It wasn't quite a compliment or forgiveness, but there was just enough of both to soothe her.

For all that she had started the encounter thinking _she_ had been the victim, when she measured both hers and Snape's ordeals in the scales of her mind, she knew that his lot was weightier. "I really don't _mean_ to trouble you," she said by way of apology.

"I know," was his long-suffering reply. "It just seems to be one of your many innate abilities."

Now that _had_ been a compliment… and an insult too, granted. She doubted he gave any compliments without barbs in them. The lack of real spite proved that he perhaps didn't hold it entirely against her.

She smiled. All in all, she was immensely glad that it had been him and not one of the Carrows who had meddled with her memory. That was such a huge weight off her mind that now the Evacuation seemed like an easy matter. Things were not nearly as dire as she'd thought they'd been twenty minutes ago.

"Right then," she said, for some reason needing to suppress nervous giggles. "Take care, sir."

Her giddy mood that she hadn't destroyed the world after all lasted a grand total of two and a half minutes…

Everything seemed to happen all at once. The shock of seeing Colin Creevey dodging brightly coloured hex-fire as he came sprinting round the corner followed hotly by Amycus Carrow barely had time register before the secondary surprise of hearing a loud _CRACK_ accompanied by the appearance of Dobby the house-elf. Colin tripped over Dobby, and both he and the camera went sprawling.

Dobby disappeared instantly with another loud crack and Hermione spent a moment trying to dive out of sight before she remembered she was already invisible.

"What was that?" demanded Carrow angrily, but seemed only momentarily distracted as he swerved directly back to what he'd no doubt been asking before. "And what did you do with those damned photographs? Tell me! Tell me or I'll kill your mudblood brother! _Imperio!_"

She had no idea what pictures Carrow was talking about but she knew she wouldn't let him hurt Colin for it.

Before Amycus could order Colin to do anything, Hermione had whipped off her cloak and cried, "Stupefy!"

The Death Eater fell unconscious to the ground and Hermione raced over to help Colin up. "Are you hurt? Did he get you with anything?"

Colin shook his head to disperse the traces of the Imperius curse, then hastily retrieved his camera before doing anything else, including answering her question. "Just grazed me. Singed my hair a bit but nothing really," he panted in answer. "Never been gladder to see you. Saved my life, I reckon."

She waved this away. The less talk about her presence there, the better. "Let's get out of here, before anyone else—"

She stopped short at the sound of footsteps approaching at a run. Colin went haring off in the opposite direction just as Hermione dove to take shelter behind a suit of armour and point her wand at the newcomers.

To her astonishment and overwhelming relief, it was Harry and Ron. Hermione was grateful she'd decided to look before she hexed.

She stepped out from her cover and Colin had stopped running and turned back around to join them.

"Hermione!"

"Mione!" the boys cried.

"What are you doing here? You weren't in the tower so we sent Dobby to fin—Colin?" It was then they seemed to notice the unconscious Carrow. "What happened?" Harry asked.

"He was chasing me. Trying to get some of my photos by using the Imperius curse. Would have succeeded, too, if Hermione hadn't stopped him," explained Colin, still short of breath.

Actually, they were all panting, either from the exertion of running or from sheer adrenaline.

"No time!" said Hermione quickly. "Someone will have heard that. One Carrow was attacked, that will certainly bring another. We have to get out of here. Now!" she insisted.

"Fifth floor passageway is the closest," said Harry.

The group nodded and started off in that direction, jumping over Amycus Carrow's body, but they didn't get much farther than that, as Alecto Carrow came rounding the corner as her brother, Colin, Ron and Harry had all recently done as well.

She took in everything with a glance, but it was that moment that cost her, for four separate stunners hit her almost at exactly the same moment.

"Merlin," said Ron, looking down at the pair of unconscious siblings. "Why don't we just… you know… get rid of them," he suggested, though it was clear by his suddenly pale complexion that despite his words, he couldn't do murder. Not like this, at any rate.

"And bring a whole troupe of Death Eaters here in revenge?" Hermione put in. "That would make things even worse."

Ron nodded in agreement, happy that his idea had been shot down. For a time, they all just stood there looking down at them in the poor light, barely able to see each other's faces, as only the one torch at the end of the hall was lit.

It was from the opposite end, the end from which Hermione herself had come, that they heard steps approach. If Snape really wanted to catch any students, he would have used a quietening charm on himself, instead of letting his footsteps herald his arrival, thus giving them time to run. Just another thing Hermione realised he did to try to help Hogwarts students.

Only they had been too busy talking and staring to have heard them in time, and Snape was already upon them by the time they whirled around to face him.

Hermione acted instinctively, putting herself in front of the boys. No doubt they thought she was trying to shield them, which was partly true. The other half of it was that she was trying to stop them from attacking Snape. She had too many people to protect and she didn't know how she would accomplish it all.

Hermione pointed her wand at him and froze for a split second. For the first time since he had become Headmaster, Hermione allowed herself to make public eye-contact with Snape and in the brief moment their gazes locked, a moment of understanding and incomparable trust passed between them.

She tightened hold on her wand and prepared to cast the spell. He seemed to know what was coming, and didn't even try to deflect it.

"_Obliviate!"_

SS

The last thing Severus recalled was Granger saying 'take care' and disappearing under the cloak and out the door. Next he knew, he found himself standing in the corridor unable to remember how he got there, with his fellow Death Eaters stunned on the floor at his feet. Well, it didn't take much reasoning to work it out. The only person in the entire castle who would incapacitate the Carrows but leave him standing and unharmed was Granger.

There were other charms or hexes she could have thrown, but no doubt the Obliviate had been on the forefront of her mind. It was natural she might have chosen it in a moment with minimal time to think.

Or perhaps she had more Slytherin qualities to her after all, and the Obliviate was her form of petty vengeance for Obliviating her first, turn-about being fair play.

The basics of what had happened were quite obvious. The Carrows had come out the worse in a duel (though from what Severus could detect, neither sibling bore proof of being hexed, merely stunned.) He must have been drawn by the noise to the disturbance and she…

If both Carrows were down and she had still Obliviated him, either she had done something she wanted to hide from him, or there had been another party there she had to play up for. A witness. Else she wouldn't have needed to curse him as well to keep up appearances.

In any case, he would have to revive his fellow Death Eaters. Amycus roused with a simple Enervate, Alecto, on the other hand, wouldn't wake at all. A simple diagnostic showed she'd been hit by multiple stunners, and would need care.

Madam Pomfrey was clearly not pleased to have to treat Alecto, but she did so anyway, as all Healers were obligated to do.

"Perhaps you could explain," Severus asked Amycus as they watched Pomfrey go about healing his sister, "why I came to find both of you, unconscious on the floor in the middle of the night? Did some students get the better of you?"

"I dunno," Carrow replied angrily, though it was obvious that the irritation was simply to cover up the shame and partial fear… fear of what Severus was about to say next.

"Tsk tsk, so lax, are we? Perhaps I ought to inform our lord that his Death Eaters can't hold their own against a few errant children," he spat.

It was an empty threat, of course. Severus wouldn't call attention to that fact because it would in all likelihood put the students more at risk, particularly the responsible party, which Severus assumed to be Granger.

Amycus immediately resorted to begging, which was exactly what Severus wanted. He wanted the Carrows to feel like he was doing them a favour, that they were in his debt. Slytherins collected favours and debts the way Hufflepuffs collected Chocolate Frog cards, only the Slytherin currency was the much more useful, if dangerous, currency.

"See that it doesn't happen again, then," said Severus, before billowing out of the Hospital Wing.

'_**What happened?**_' he asked via the sickle once he was back in the comparative privacy of the Headmaster's office.

'_I Obliv'd you,' _she admitted freely.

_**I know.**_

'_W. last remember?'_

Here Severus paused, wondering if, given the chance, she would tell the truth if he told her he didn't remember anything that evening, meaning he didn't remember that they had met at all.

'_**Dinner,'**_ was his dishonest reply.

It was a few minutes before his coin warmed again.

_Watch for Crooks._

So she was going to send that cat of hers to him. He hoped it was a memory and not a written note of what had transpired. Granger knew he must have a pensieve, she'd mentioned before that Potter had rudely peeked in on the Headmaster's memories (the horrible child seemed to make a habit of that) and that the thought basin was still in the office.

When the furry creature turned up, dead rat in its mouth, Severus removed and transfigured it back to its original form. A phial with a silvery substance inside.

Severus watched the scene several times, and couldn't deny that his memory self had seemed to give her permission. After she'd cast the spell, she'd shouted at her group to run, as there wasn't much time. They scattered as she quickly Obliviated the Carrows as well before taking herself off, but not before casting memory Severus a last look.

'Slips like that can get you killed, witch,' he thought. Luckily, no one had been around to see it.

Interestingly, the memory she had given him had started with Amycus chasing after the elder Creevey, howling about photographs, _not_ with her little panic attack about having her own memory removed. So that meant that Granger now believed he thought he had been successful in taking away her memory with her being none the wiser. She was either protecting his pride, or simply wiping clean the slate, as it were. Either way, it meant she would never bring it up again, as she was playing it off as if she were still ignorant both of the near assassination and subsequent Obliviation. That was good enough. Now they would both go on, pretending it didn't happen, even though they both knew it did. But they did not, in fact, both _know_ the other knew.

This twisted sort of Slytherin policy was almost comforting to him, despite the inept Gryffindor player. Perhaps it was the assurance that he was more competent at the game than Granger and both the Carrows that made him feel so oddly relaxed.

He left the office, ignoring all the portraits clucking at him from their frames, and actually found some rest in his bed.

_**Author's Note:**__ I only just now noticed that I don't really do cliff-hangers. Huh._

_ This is actually the first part of what was going to be an __**enormous **__chapter (though it already is the longest yet, as is.) When trying to best determine where to chop it, I first thought of ending it with_ "Her giddy mood that she hadn't destroyed the world after all lasted a grand total of about two and a half minutes…" _but I couldn't bring myself to do so._

_So out of curiosity (not that it will make a jot of difference in my not using them, this is simply inquisitiveness) answer me this question..._

_Cliff-hangers, yay or nay? Effective device or cheap gimmick? _


	17. A Double Evacuation

**Chapter 17: _A Double Evacuation_**

It wasn't until they returned to the Common Room that she noticed. "Ron, what's wrong with your face? It looks a bit…" _Splotchy_ was the word she wanted to use, but decided to settle for the less offensive and less accurate, "flushed."

Ron looked down to the ground, his face scrunching up awkwardly as he muttered something under his breath that Hermione thought sounded a bit like "Bat Bogey."

Ah. Ginny. Clearly the conversation between the two siblings about her dating Harry hadn't gone as calmly as one could have hoped. And yet, considering these were the hottest heads of the brood, it could have been much worse.

"And where _is_ Ginny?" Hermione whispered to Harry. She would have suspected the youngest Weasley would have accompanied the boys on their self-appointed 'rescue mission.'

Harry dropped his voice even lower. "We thought it best if she slept in her dorm tonight. Ron's been through enough shock for one day, I think." He grinned wickedly at this. "So she didn't even know we left."

Hermione agreed with that decision whole-heartedly. Ron did _not_ need the added provocation of knowing Ginny stayed nights in Harry's four-poster. No indeed.

Colin had already disappeared off to his dormitory before Hermione remembered to ask what photos he'd taken that had Amycus in hot pursuit of him. Still, she didn't fancy bringing that up in front of the boys anyway, or they might question her own reasons for being out in the corridors at night. Presumably, they assumed that she had been out shadowing Colin, as per Gryffindor protocol. She had been remiss in not telling them, true, but they seemed to have (luckily) forgotten that bit in all the excitement.

It was silent for a time, as they sat in front of the fireplace, lost in their own thoughts. Harry spoke first, startling them with the sudden sound and the violence of the pronouncement. "We should have killed them all, you know," he said, not angrily, not loudly, but in a pensive, worryingly calm way. "If we killed all three of them, then Voldemort would have lost his hold on Hogwarts. We'd be free of them."

"He would just send more people in, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

"But by the time he realised they were dead, we could have… I dunno, built up our defences. We could have protected ourselves against him here. McGonagall, the other teachers, would have helped."

"Just because those three are gone doesn't mean the castle is clean, mate. Must be loads of Slytherins, other people, who support or answer to him," said Ron. "Pawns don't often kill a queen but they definitely present themselves as obstacles."

Hermione blinked, not only at this rather logical response, but also at the eloquence with which it was delivered. _Present themselves as obstacles? _Ron had clearly been reading about chess strategy instead of doing his homework. Well, at least he was reading _something_.

Harry didn't seem at all surprised by this, merely nodded minutely in acknowledgement of the point. "Malfoy," he grumbled, but said nothing more. Neither did she or Ron.

After a certain amount of staring at the fire, they all seemed to decide as one to get up and go to bed at the same time. It wasn't odd, this synchronisation, in fact, it seemed entirely right. For all that they might have conflicting ideas, they were still united. They were still together, a team.

She was in the bathroom changing into her pyjamas when the coin warmed against her skin. Immediately her heart rate rocketed. He was a clever man; he might have already worked out what she'd done.

'_**What happened?**_' it read. She knew it wasn't worth it to lie to him, especially if he had already gathered the truth for himself.

'_I Obliv'd you,' _she admitted freely.

_**I know.**_

'_W. last remember?'_ she asked, recalling the intensely awkward quarter of an hour she'd spent with him earlier that evening, panicking about her lost memory, then embarrassing him by watching the scene he'd wanted her to forget. She wasn't sure how far back her hasty memory charm had gone, and if he didn't remember that episode, so much the better. He'd have more peace of mind thinking she didn't know, and she would be able to be around him more easily without having that awkwardness of the knowing between them. She waited, desperately hoping that his last memory was _before_ that entire incident.

_**Dinner.**_

She sighed in relief. There was one less thing for him, for both of them, to worry about.

Unrepentantly, she pulled from her temple the memory of that evening, starting from seeing Colin careening round the corner with Carrow on his heels. He would probably be angry with her for Obliviating him, but… well he could get over it. They had been in a tight spot and she'd done what was necessary to compensate.

Once she'd put the memory safely in a phial, she'd transfigured it into a lifeless-looking rodent and spent a good time petting Crookshanks into a state of compliance before sending him on his way with it.

She stayed awake, worrying over what his reaction would be. After two hours of waiting in the still darkness of the dormitory, she understood that he would not be sickling a response, so she tried to follow the boys' example and go to sleep.

They made it look so easy…

x

It was because Severus knew of the Evacuation that he understood the small changes in Minerva's behaviour, and Filius and Pomona's too. He would have recognised their tight-lipped, knowing looks between themselves, but he wouldn't have known what it was about. That might have driven him mad. Luckily for the shreds of his sanity, he was privy to the plan. In fact, he'd been working on a way to ensure that the three threats, Carrow, Carrow and Filch, stayed away from the three courses; Hufflepuff Common Room to its nearest secret passage, Ravenclaw Common Room to its nearest passage, and the same for Gryffindor.

Granger did not suggest a final meeting to confirm and go over the ultimate plan, but sent another memory with all the changes, last-minute details, as well as an overall itinerary. It was odd to watch, for she merely recited the whole thing in front of a mirror, so she'd have a collection of all the acquired information on one specific memory to send to him. Quite simple and effective. The memory ended with her saying that if he had anything pertinent to add or ask, to contact her with the coin, otherwise she'd be spending the entire night before the Evacuation making Lupin's Wolfsbane Potion.

Severus wanted to groan at the seeming boundless energy of the woman, but quickly recalled the evening he'd modified her memory. She'd looked beyond tired, yet she kept working, despite the fatigue. It would no doubt be something similar tonight. But brewing while fatigued was dangerous business, and Severus hoped she would keep her wits about her. Not that he cared if she ended up accidentally poisoning Lupin, although that would reflect poorly on his teaching, but mistakes when brewing could often have dangerously explosive results. Not that he cared about her either, but she was an important element in getting the Muggle-borns to safety, and in Harry Potter's safety, and therefore the Wizarding World's safety. So his concern for her well-being was only tertiary, really.

That missive had been twelve hours ago. She would have the potion completed by now, or nearly so. She'd be sending it off to the werewolf any minute with a secret owl, and then no doubt she'd begin the preparations for the Evacuation, as would he, putting his plans into effect, diverting the Carrows and Filch away from the three evacuation routes.

x

Hermione had been waiting in the Gryffindor Common room for Professor McGonagall. She'd been exhausted that afternoon, but now she was wide awake, her heart already pounding. Harry and Ron had wanted to come along help but if they were caught, then it would just be handing Harry over, and they didn't need that.

"I'll check on your aunt and uncle and Dudley for you," she had offered meekly up in the dormitory after dinner, knowing that Harry's family had been horrid to him. Still, he might be a _little_ bit concerned.

Now she waited alone, waited for Professor McGonagall, waited to wake the Creevey brothers and tell them to quietly pack up everything they could in 20 minutes and then lead them out.

Everything went off without a hitch, which only served to make Hermione more and more nervous that eventually their good luck would end. Snape had said he would take care of the Carrows, and she didn't doubt that he would, but things could still go wrong. She had planned for most contingencies (she hoped), but she earnestly prayed they wouldn't be necessary.

The Gryffindor group was actually the last to arrive in Hogsmeade, and Hermione made not a whimper of protest when she mounted her broom and shot up into the night sky. She wasn't thinking about her fear at all. Just like in first year, when she had hopped right on that old broomstick to try to catch a flying key [and] she hadn't been concerned at all because she'd been too preoccupied with more life-threatening business.

Just like now. Technically, this was the most dangerous part of the whole trip. Snape had kept the way clear for them, but there was nothing he could do to protect them in Hogsmeade or in the air to Duff town. With a large group, it was the visibility factor Hermione worried about most. If anyone happened to be awake and looking up… even at night, they'd be hard to miss, for the weather was miraculously (and unfortunately) clear. Disillusionment Charms had been placed on everyone but still, Hermione worried.

The bus ride from Duff town to London was the longest in her life, and not merely by the merit of distance. The whole way she, and no doubt all the others as well, was simply hoping that they got to London safely. She didn't doubt they were a bit regretful as well, leaving everything and everyone without a word of notice, abandoning, or hopefully just postponing, their education and therefore their future prospects indefinitely. It was just a stressful situation, and now was the first time since they'd been hustled from their beds that they had time to contemplate it. A lot of time.

Eventually, usually in groups of two or three, the other students would come to where Hermione sat and ask more questions, and she patiently explained to each and every one the impending law, the threat it was to them and their families, and the steps taken to protect them all.

"We couldn't risk telling you sooner. Word might have got out and we could have been stopped before we even started."

Couldn't they at least have said goodbye to their friends, was another common question.

"I know it's difficult to leave without saying goodbye, but it's dangerous to us _and_ your friends if they knew where you were going. If the Carrows or anyone else asks, they can answer honestly that they don't know. But your families know. They will be there waiting for you." She must have said that last bit 50 times. That was the only good and comforting information she _could_ give, so she repeated it often. _Your families are safe, and you'll be with them soon._

Only that wasn't true for Hermione.

After she'd visited the Dursleys, as promised, and met with all the relevant Order members to ensure all the students had made it safely to their destinations and that all was well, Hermione first sickled her thanks to Severus Snape, letting him know of the complete success, then she altered her appearance in any way she could, and hailed the Knight Bus.

Her parents were naturally surprised, not expecting to see their daughter at all during the school year, much less in the middle of the night. Much like she'd done with her fellow Gryffindors, she woke her parents and told them to get up and start packing.

"Why? What's happened?" asked her father. And while she hadn't given him any information at all yet, he went to his wardrobe and started pulling out clothes and throwing them on the bed. The trust they had in her made her slightly proud, but more than anything, it made her feel horribly, horribly guilty.

She told them the entire truth, that the Ministry was passing a law to make it illegal to be Muggle-born and would arrest everyone with Muggle parents, so she had to go into hiding. Since she was a rather prominent Muggle-born, being Harry Potter's best friend and the supposed love interest of a famous Quidditch player, they were bound to come here looking for her.

"Minerva McGonagall contacted us, saying we had to leave, but we—."

"Didn't, I know. I'm sorry I've put you in danger," she said with true remorse.

"It's not your fault you are a witch, darling," comforted her mother, though her voice didn't have its usual soothing tone, but was fraught with tension and distraction as she too tried to plan.

"Nor that the Ministry of Magic is filled with crack-pot bunglers," added her father angrily.

"What about the practice?" she asked them.

"You let us deal with that. We'll tell everyone we are on holiday in Australia indefinitely," her mother supplied.

"When really we'll be in France," her father added.

That was where Hermione had planned for them to be. They did, after all, have a summer home, a _tiny_ summer home there. "But don't tell them anything until you are there," Hermione added.

"We can't ring them at this hour anyway," her mother said distractedly.

_Good_, Hermione thought. Everything was working out more smoothly than she expected.

It was only after 20 minutes of hectic packing that her father stopped and whirled around to face her. "You are coming too, I'll have you know. You are not going off to gallivant with your friends while we go into hiding. It's too dangerous. That's final. So you better start packing too."

"Of course I'm going with you," Hermione said. "And I'm already packed. My truck is in my pocket. I shrank it."

Her father nodded curtly and went back to his suitcase, taking out one thing and replacing it with something else he must have thought to be more important.

It was nearing sunrise when they had everything they thought they'd need and called a taxi to the airport, and nearly two in the afternoon local time when they arrived at their summer home in the South of France.

"Can I show you a neat little spell?" she asked her parents upon arriving.

"Always," her father replied (as he always did when she wanted to show them magic.)

With a flick of her wand, her parents' suitcases started to unpack themselves. Clothes hurtled to the wardrobes, toiletries found their places in the bathroom, and all the odds and ends dispersed to various appropriate places throughout the small house.

Her mother clapped her hands. "Wonderful!" she cried. "Magic really is _magical_, isn't it?" Hermione had [to?] smile a little grimly, that her mother could still find delight in magic, when it was because Hermione was magical that they had uprooted themselves and moved to another country.

Hermione quietly went outside and warded the area, subtly, so that a witch and wizard wouldn't be attracted to all the magic. When she returned to her parents, her father was on the phone, making up a story about how he and his wife just wanted to get away for a while and would be spending a good long time in Australia. Yes, it was a sudden decision, but it's what they wanted, just to be left alone for a while to reconnect with each other. Hermione didn't know to whom he was speaking, but at least now friends and family wouldn't call the police when they found the Granger home empty.

When he'd hung up, he told her that her mother was on the phone as well, cancelling the utilities to the other house while they were gone. That had been good thinking, and something Hermione hadn't thought of.

"You know," her mother began when she walked back into the room, tossing her mobile onto the armchair. "I think this might be a good thing. This kind of immediate change, it's refreshing."

"I hope so," said Hermione, and desperately meaning it.

"That's it, then," said her father. "We are officially moved."

"Just one last thing…" said Hermione, pulling out her wand again. "If I can show you another bit of magic."

Her father smiled. "Always…"

.

She had moved her parents to France because she couldn't bear the thought of them cooped up in a safe house with nothing to do but worry over her. Now, if she had stayed with them, if she had agreed to go to into hiding as well, she might as well have gone to the Order safe house, but she wasn't going into hiding and didn't know how long the war would last, so she gave them a chance at having a normal care-free life. One where they wouldn't be in a constant state of worry over their daughter.

Now they didn't even know they _had_ a daughter.

When they woke up, they would be a childless couple enjoying early retirement in the south of France.

She was crying, of course, but this was how she'd planned it to happen. Not a thing had gone wrong. Everything had worked out accordingly. She was miserable, yes, but so was everyone else with this new law. The important thing was that everyone was now safe.

Except herself.

SS

At first, most students were terrified and outraged, thinking the Carrows had taken the Muggle-borns out of their beds while they slept, but the obvious rage of the Death Eater siblings was proof enough that they hadn't been behind the disappearances and were quite displeased by the fact. The Carrows hadn't noticed that the Muggle-borns were gone until Sunday morning, and their negative reaction to the news transformed this suddenly terrifying event into a kind of victory. For the students and the staff, anyway. For Severus and the Carrows, it meant being summoned the next morning, Monday morning, the day the law was to go into effect.

The Dark Lord had been furious that all the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts had managed to escape. The law was meant to be kept secret, so that just this sort of thing wouldn't happen. He had ruthlessly searched Carrow's mind, stumbling across the detention where Alecto had shouted at Granger between Crucios, "Next week, it will be."

"_Granger…_" said the Dark Lord thoughtfully. Severus successfully suppressed a groan of despair. _Oh__,__ no…_ "You told the Mudblood, Alecto. You told Harry Potter's friend, Granger, when the law would be passed, and she organised a mass exodus from the castle…." he hissed. While he was certainly angry, though it was a calm sort of anger, it seemed it was more at Alecto. Surprisingly, he seemed almost proud of Granger. "She will die, of course," he remarked matter-of-factly.

"Yes, master. I will—" Carrow began but was interrupted.

"Not by you, Alecto, you've disappointed me enough. As it happens, we already have Granger in a holding cell at the Ministry. She will be brought to me tomorrow. I will deal with her personally."

Severus fought to keep his face still, his breathing even. They had her? How? When did they get her? And tomorrow? That didn't give Severus much time to even _think_ of a plan to get her out, let alone put it into action.

HG

She'd been too confident, that had been the problem. She'd been so nervous about getting the Muggle-borns out and getting her parents safe that when she'd accomplished those things, she got careless. Or perhaps she'd been too distraught about leaving her parents. Whatever the case, when she'd left France, she'd forgotten to put her disguise back on, and upon arriving in London had been recognised.

The Death Eater who had caught her summed it up quite flawlessly, Hermione thought, the moment he saw her. After the moment of surprise, he grinned and said, "Bad luck, Mudblood." After that, Hermione didn't remember anything. Of course, she didn't know that the stranger who'd been smiling at her was a Death Eater. She'd never seen him before in her life. If she'd known, she would have certainly drawn her wand or Apparated away or something. It wasn't until he'd said 'Mudblood' that she realised he was magical and inimical, and by then, it was too late.

Actually, he might not have been a Death Eater, Hermione reasoned, but he certainly was no friend. And it had been 'bad luck' just as he said. It was obvious he hadn't been looking for her, and that finding her had been quite a surprise. She just happened to land in his lap, so to speak, and now she was in a holding cell in the Ministry of Magic, along with a few other luckless Muggle-borns. The law hadn't technically been passed yet, but that didn't seem to matter.

Her wand was gone, naturally, but her trunk, she felt, was still crammed into her jeans pocket. Of course, it was useless at this size, and she had no way to enlarge it, but it was a small comfort that even though she couldn't read them, she still had her books with her. Silly to cling to something like that, but it was really all she had. So far as she knew, no one was aware she'd even been taken. She wished that she'd Obliviated herself now, doubting her Occlumency skills. She would be lucky to be flung into Azkaban like the rest. In fact, she was desperately hoping that she would be, but the best friend of Harry Potter was probably too much of an opportunity for them to pass up, and she didn't doubt that her mind would be pillaged to the best of the interrogator's ability. Not only might she give away information about Harry's plans and the Horcruxes, but she might also reveal that Harry _was_ a Horcrux, and that she and Severus Snape were trying to remedy that.

If she were taken, Snape would be finished, that was for certain. Unless he had some clever excuse planned for situations like these. Surely he would. Hopefully he would.

Just like when she had contacted Snape about her mind having been tampered with, Hermione began to panic. At first, she started pacing, hyperventilating, but after a time, she simply put her back to the wall, slid down into a sitting position and rocked herself back and forth. No one else, she noticed, was doing much better.

The room had filled dramatically the next morning, escalating from just a few to a great many. They were simply Muggle-born Ministry employees, who had been taken the moment they showed up for work, ignorant of what awaited them when they did. She had slept, though briefly and very poorly, and when she awoke she was just as upset as when she went to bed. Would Harry and Ron be worrying yet?

A fresh wave of panic was about to wash over her when her chest warmed. Her eyes went round in surprise and she pulled out the chain with the sickle on it, thinking before she even read it that she couldn't possibly reply and tell him she was in trouble.

Still, she fished it out and read the message.

'_**Just breathe,'**_ it said, and Hermione found herself doing just that. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, repeating the process until she felt a bit calmer.

He knew where she was. That in and of itself made her feel better. She knew he wasn't about to break in and rescue her, but the fact that _someone_ on her side knew she was there was a comfort. She continued to breathe, and rubbed the sickle between her forefinger and thumb, her only contact outside the cell.

SS

Severus and the Carrows returned from their meeting with the Dark Lord just as the castle was eating their early morning meal. Severus stopped as he was passing the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley sat. Both boys, who had been reading the morning Prophet, stiffened instantly, doing their best to control their faces, which wanted to contort with some deep emotion, fury or disgust, or most likely a combination of the two. "You two," he said pointing between them, "will come to my office after breakfast. The password is," he paused for dramatic maliciousness... or what the two boys would assume to be dramatic maliciousness. "_Dumbledore_."

Severus did his best to sneer at the name, ignoring the pang in his chest, and he swooped by to take his seat at the Head Table. He ate very little, merely pushing food around his plate for a time before he left. His own edition of the newspaper was waiting for him on his desk. The first page was, of course, about the new law. Severus thought he understood now the boys' expressions. Perhaps they had concluded correctly that their friend had been taken.

"Why are we here?" asked Potter curtly when they arrived.

_So I can goad you into going to the Ministry after Granger_, he thought. But he'd have to make it seem as though he just wanted to tease and torment the boys about losing the brainy feminine third of their trio.

"Merely to enquire after your friend," he replied cruelly, holding up the paper. "How is she? I hear that they keep all the Muggle-borns locked up in one room. That they have to sleep on top of one another and use a hole in the corner to relieve themselves. Imagine the stench..." He put on a smile for show and Weasley's ears went red with rage.

"You bastard!"

"Tsk, tsk. Language, Mr. Weasley. Although I'm surprised at you, Potter. I'd have thought you'd have gone racing off to the Ministry on thestral-back by now." A dig at his godfather; Black would surely get a rise out of him. "But I will tell you now, there is no way of getting out of the castle, and the only unmonitored fireplace is my own, so you can't escape by Floo."

After a bit more taunting and jeering, he let them go, hoping that just this once, they would act typically (read, immediately) and not wait until the next day when the Dark Lord would already have her.

Severus waited all day after Potter and Weasley had left for some distraction. Filch, or someone would come to him, saying that some Weasley Wizard Wheezes product had gone off somewhere, and he'd be called away from his office. He'd _given_ the boys the password. He'd all but told them to help themselves to his Floo. He couldn't have been any more direct without giving himself away. He'd even left all the potions stores unwarded. Anything that could assist them, Severus had provided.

Why hadn't they acted?

He paced his office like a caged animal until if finally came. Filch, wheezing and panting, knocked on his door. Severus returned to his desk and admitted him with a languid boredom that did not at all reflect his mood.

"Yes? What is it, Mr. Filch?"

"The dungeons is flooded, sir. I've asked Professor Flitwick for help, but he's not being cooperative. Says it's 'beyond his skill'."

'_Good man,_' thought Severus. Though Filius might have just wanted to inconvenience Severus by making him come down and do it himself, it was precisely what he wanted. Severus left immediately, hoping that Potter and Weasley would make good use of the fire while he was gone. It was only much later that evening, when he spied neither boy at dinner, that he realised he'd just sent Harry bloody Potter, the boy he was supposed to be guarding with his life, right into harm's way. Severus didn't bother asking himself if he would have done that if it had been anyone else that had been taken, because he didn't want to know the answer. He only hoped that he hadn't just handed the Dark Lord all three of them, that somehow Potter would miraculously be able to pull this off without getting caught himself. Mostly, Severus hoped that he hadn't just made a huge mistake, and that if they did manage to succeed, that they had the sense not to return to Hogwarts.

x

_**Breathe…**_

She had to keep reminding herself to breathe. It was growing later in the day, more and more people were being brought it, and Hermione continued to breathe. It was amazing what a well-oxygenated brain could do. It certainly functioned much better than a panic-stricken one. Not that she was actually able to _do_ anything but sit there in captivity, but at least she could focus on something.

It took a moment for Hermione to notice that there was something of a commotion around her. She'd been deep in thought, withdrawn into herself, so she hadn't realised right away. People around her were being jostled about, they were moving. Leaving?

"Quickly," said an unfamiliar voice. "And quietly. We haven't got much time, so hurry."

People _were_ leaving the room. They were being set free by the sounds of things. Well, this was an opportunity she would certainly take advantage of. She rose to her feet to follow everyone else out. The man who had been speaking, a burly sort of fellow with outrageous facial hair, pinned her to his side the moment he saw her.

Startled, she barely had time to react in any way before he started dragging her out. "Here," he said, trying, she supposed, to put a Disillusionment Charm on her. It didn't entirely work and the man smiled sheepishly in apology. "Well, it'll have to do for now, anyway. Come on, we've got to get out of here."

He pushed her forward, his hand rubbing her lower back, making Hermione uncomfortable. Yes, she was gratefully to be let out, but she didn't particularly care for being felt up by bearded strangers. Now, however, was not the time. When she escaped and if she ever saw the man again, she'd politely inform him to keep his hands to himself. Just at present, however, she had more important things to worry about.

"My wand," she said, using this as an excuse to move away from him.

"Harry's getting it. We're meeting him outside."

"Harry's here?" she whispered, wide-eyed. Suddenly things started clicking into place. "Ron?"

"Of course it's me. You don't think this old goat would bother his arse with rescuing you, do you?" he asked, pointing at himself. "He's a right git, I can tell you."

"Oh, Ron!" she said, overcome with relief and something else she couldn't quite put a name to. She hugged him fiercely, this time not minding the roving hand or the unfamiliar bristling hair and slightly bulging tummy.

"Mione," he whispered, pulling her even tighter into him, that ridiculous beard tickling her ear. Tears were trickling out of her eyes, and a moment later, she pulled away and slapped his chest.

"Stupid boys," she said through her sniffles. "Don't you know how dangerous this is?"

He kissed her cheek. The intense scratching of the moustache barely registered. "Worth it," Ron whispered, and took her hand and continued to pull her along, sneaking past other Ministry officials when they came by and slipping out of the atrium into the relative safety of Muggle London.

"This is where we said to meet up," said Ron, who was slowly turning into the long, lean, ginger-haired boy he really was. Hermione instantly borrowed his wand and disguised them both using superficial charms and transfiguration, their hands still intertwined.

Both Hermione and Ron started to get nervous when even after fifteen minutes, Harry still hadn't arrived. "He'll be here," Ron repeated to himself, though his hold on her hand grew tighter and sweatier. Ron began digging in his robes, and after a minute of fishing around, he pulled out a mirror. If Hermione wasn't mistaken, it was one of the pair Sirius had given Harry years ago.

"We thought to bring things in case we got separated," Ron explained, before turning to the mirror and saying Harry's name. Hermione's heart fell further with each passing second Harry didn't respond. She felt a tap at her shoulder and she turned around.

Nothing was there, but suddenly there was a _whoosh _and Harry Potter appeared before them, eyeing them and their joined hands with a knowing smile. A cocky smile, as if he hadn't just done something entirely dangerous and reckless. Hermione fully intended to give him that lecture too… after she was finished hugging him.

Once teary embraces and lectures on safety and good sense were over and done with, she peppered them both with questions on how they knew she was there, how they managed to sneak into the Ministry and release all of the captured Muggle-borns.

"Snape, actually," said Harry smugly. "He brought us into his office after breakfast just to tell us you'd been taken and to rub it in our faces. After that, we had his password, so Ginny and Luna helped us with a distraction and we slipped into his office when he was out dealing with it."

"But the polyjuice. You couldn't have brewed it yourselves, not in so short a time."

"Well, we thought we'd take the chance of raiding his stores, like you did earlier to make Lupin's Wolfsbane."

"You managed to get past all the wards?" she asked, knowing that her surprise must have been a bit insulting to their abilities.

Ron shook his head. "There were none. Carrow must have forgot to put them up, because they were completely unprotected when we got there. We helped ourselves to nearly everything we thought might be useful."

Automatically, Hermione's hand let go of Ron's so she could rub at the sickle under her jumper. _Severus Snape, you wonderful man_, she thought. He'd arranged for the boys to escape the castle and save her. It had been dangerous to risk Harry's safety that way, but seeing as they had succeeded, it was difficult to be mad about that. In fact, she was nothing but touched, and felt a slight catch in her chest when she thought about Snape doing that for her.

It was only then Hermione realised how oddly attached to him she had become. She then sighed, thinking that _that_ couldn't lead anywhere, then promptly redirected her thoughts.

"My wand," she said suddenly.

"Oh, right." Harry withdrew it from his pocket. "They were just thrown into a massive box, all mixed up together, no tags or anything."

"How did you know which one was mine?" she asked.

"You've had the same wand for going on seven years, Hermione. Of course I'd know which one it was." said Harry a bit condescendingly. "How many times have I stared at that wand during Charms and Transfiguration trying to get my wand movements to be exactly like yours?"

At Harry's silly lopsided grin, Hermione was hard-pressed not to giggle. She eventually failed, and the combination of Harry's and Ron's smile, and the fact that she'd been rescued finally sinking in, Hermione allowed herself to laugh in amusement, in joy, in wondrous relief.

.

They couldn't spend all day in an alleyway, hidden by Notice-Me-Not charms. They had to relocate, but where?

"We can't go back to the castle," said Harry. Hermione nodded in agreement, though regretfully.

"We can't go anywhere they might think to look for us, either," added Ron. "We'll have to go on the run, like Sirius did."

Hermione instantly wanted to say that she refused to live in caves and feed primarily on rats, but Harry beat her to speech.

"What about those tents we used for the World Cup?" he asked.

"The man dad borrowed them from died, actually. Don't know that he ever gave them back."

"Worth a try?" asked Harry.

"Well yeah, but how do we get it out of the Burrow without being noticed?"

"We don't," said Hermione firmly. No doubt they would be looking for all three of them by this point, and the Burrow was the first place they'd think to look. Hermione did, however, have another idea.

.

With all three of them under the Cloak, moving was slow and awkward, but they managed to keep themselves completely hidden. However invisible they were, the door still perceptibly opened, and the bell to the shop still rang.

"Oi, we know that Cloak, don't we, Fred?"

"Yes, we do, George. And I'll eat my hat if it isn't the one and only Harry Potter who's just sneaked into our shop."

The trio pulled off the Cloak to reveal themselves to the twins. "Ooh, all three! You said _one and only_ Harry Potter. I'd say that means you need to eat your hat, Fred."

Fred, who was indeed wearing a three-corner, tricolour hat which seemed to jump and spin in the air every few seconds so that a different colour faced front (which was really the back), shrugged, snatched at the cap from his head, and started munching.

"Mmm…" he said contentedly. "Want a bite? Tastes like gumdrops."

"All right then," said Ron, who accepted the offered hat, and tore off a piece with his teeth. "Hmm… it _is_ good."

"New product?" asked Harry with a smile.

"'Eat my hat' hats," George declared. "Makes you less accountable for what you say. Started when I made Fred _actually _eat his hat earlier today, and he said that they ought to those things taste better, so…. Voila. Nothing special really. Took all of five minutes to do."

"But I've got an inkling that you didn't come here to sample edible hats," said Fred.

"And how _could_ they have come for that reason when they didn't even know they existed?" George agreed. "_We _didn't know they existed until we made them 15 minutes ago."

"You're right, actually. We wanted your help," said Harry.

"Name it and it's done," said Fred with supreme confidence.

"I want you to go to your parents' house," Harry said, and both Fred and George noticeably drooped in disappointment.

"That's it? Go to the Burrow? Merlin, we go there all the time." Clearly they'd been hoping for something more exciting.

"I know. That's why it's got to be you." Harry went on to explain what they needed and why.

"Bloody hell. You broke into the Ministry to rescue the Muggle-borns and didn't think to invite us?" said George, for all the world as if it had been a party from which they'd been rudely excluded.

"Sorry, we were strapped for time," Harry offered. "Next time, you'll be the first to know."

This seemed to placate them, and they agreed to help them with their scheme. Fred stayed to mind the shop, and George popped down to the Burrow.

He returned quite soon, tent in tow, looking disappointed that his task had been so simple.

"Thanks, Fred, George," said Harry, Hermione echoing something similar.

"Oi, you listening to Potterwatch?" asked George.

"Haven't got a wireless," said Ron.

"Take this one," said Fred. Hermione resized it, storing it in her tiny trunk. "Hope you don't mind us reporting the break-out. That was brilliant."

It was clear that Harry _did_ sort of mind, but Fred and George had just done them a favour, so Hermione knew he wouldn't say anything. Ron, however, looked pleased that his name might be mentioned in the evening report.

.

Late evening found them in the tent outside of London. Using the Polyjuice potion again, Harry had gone to Gringotts and transferred the gold he had on him (which was a considerable amount) into pounds sterling. They were actually on someone's farm, in easy walking distance of the village. With money to use at the local shops, and the mostly cosy tent, they were quite comfortable. It was the same tent she and Ginny had used back at the World Cup, small, but adequate for their purposes.

Ron was just exclaiming (excitedly) that there were only two beds, when Harry pulled the sofa out into a double-bed and instantly claimed it as his. Hermione enlarged her trunk and put her own duvet on the lower bunk, leaving the top one for Ron.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, only then remembering. "Dudley wanted to know if you were okay."

"Bet he was disappointed when you told him I was fine," Harry returned with sour humour.

"No, he was genuinely worried for you, Harry. Said that you saved his life. It was Dudley who got your aunt and uncle to actually go into hiding. He trusts you, Harry."

Harry's eyebrows rose, but then fell again and he shrugged. "Always was an odd one, Dud," he said, clearly not knowing how else to respond to this sudden turnabout.

She reminded them once again to clear their minds before going to sleep, but didn't partake of the advice herself. Instead she withdrew her sickle, and smiling, she wrote, "_They got me out. Thank you x10._" It was a bit cramped, but it would have to do, as she couldn't actually write 'thank you' ten times over. She might have said it as many times to the boys, though, and was suddenly amused at the thought of how horrified Snape would be if she'd hugged him the way she had Harry and Ron. Then she wondered how _she _would have reacted if it had been Snape to kiss her cheek and say it was worth it, just like Ron had.

Her stomach swooped, despite the fact that she reminded herself that Severus Snape would do no such thing.

_Stupid girl_, she told herself, though she was still smiling when she drifted off to sleep.

SS

Severus felt the coin heat up, which meant one of two things. Either it had been taken from her and someone had learnt how to work it or she'd managed to escape and had access to a wand.

When he read the message, he sighed and leaned his neck back all the way, so that he'd be staring at the ceiling if he hadn't let his eyes flutter closed.

They had all managed to get out safely.

The clock chimed and Severus waved a hand, turning on the wireless to the appropriate channel. The familiar animated voices of the Weasley twins filled his ears as they regaled their unseen audience with the tale of the new law law which Harry Potter and his side-kick Ronald Weasley (the nickname used no doubt to anger their younger sibling) single-handedly thwarted by breaking into the Ministry to release the wrongly detained Muggle-borns, and in particular, Hermione Granger, the boys' long time best friend.

Severus barely managed to muster a sneer at Potter's need for publicity, but it was predominantly relief he felt. Not just Granger but many had been freed. Severus didn't doubt that many more would be taken in if they didn't take precautions to protect themselves, but the breakout would attract a great deal of publicity, alerting even more people that Muggle-borns were being snatched. And what was more, none of it could be traced to him, as it was the Carrows' responsibility to see that no students escaped. He recalled the Dark Lord's words exactly when it came to the boy's presence at Hogwarts. _"… and Amycus, Alecto, see that he stays there."_

Severus admitted to eagerly anticipating the punishment the Dark Lord would dole out to the Carrows for having lost Harry Potter, and consequently all the captured Muggle-borns as well, including Granger. Yes, it was good to be blameless, for once.

"And that's our show for today, witches and gentlewizards. Tune in next time to Potterwatch at 1185. Until then, just remember that if you're scared of meeting Voldy-shorts face to face, practice confronting your fears and go to the loo and take a poo. We hear that he looks like shit, so if you can face the contents of your toilet bowl, then you should have noooo trouble." The broadcast ended with a pre-recorded jingle of sorts they had clearly come up with themselves, which consisted of the pair of them taking turns singing to the tune of Ponchielli's Pastoral Symphony...

_Harry Potter_

_Harry Potter_

_No one's hotter_

_Than that rotter._

_Don't just sit there_

_Scratching your crotch._

_Tune in rightly- listen nightly- to the Potterwaaaatch!_


	18. Lacking Blood

**Chapter 18: _Lacking Blood_**

Hermione woke with a gasp of horrified realization. It seemed to have occurred to her in sleep and she'd started awake with the violence of her reaction. The new moon. She'd missed it. She'd been in a holding cell in the Ministry and she hadn't got Harry's blood for the Horcrux potion.

Angrily, she beat her pillow, crying out half-muffled words that would have been profanities had she been able to articulate further than frustrated yowls.

'_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_' she cursed herself, though she couldn't honestly say it had been oversight. Still, she blamed herself, for if she hadn't been foolish enough to have been captured in London, she would have been back at Hogwarts on that day and taken Harry's blood and the potion would soon be completed.

Now she would have to wait an entire month. And what would happen to her potion in the meantime? Grasping for her wand in the dark, she uttered a few more bad words (not something she did by habit, but the situation called for it.) She lit her wand, hoping that the beam of light wouldn't wake Harry or Ron, and withdrew her sickle from beneath her shirt.

_Missed moon. No blood._

It was only after she sent it that she thought to check the time, and found it was nearly four in the morning. There was a part of her that almost wished he wouldn't answer, that he had slept through the rudely timed message, but she admitted that most of her wished he would answer, despite the hour.

Anything could happen in a month. Hermione couldn't even begin to estimate where she might be in 27 days or what they might be doing. Would the potion keep that long? She thought it might, what with the dark magic Snape had performed. She imagined it could last a lifetime until someone's blood was added and it became effective. That was, of course, presupposing that nothing happened to contaminate it. Snape had told her once before about the possibility of 'gross contamination' from brewing in a bathroom, and yet that's where the potion remained. Had she learnt nothing? Was she really that foolish? Myrtle had flooded the bathroom once already and ruined it, forcing Hermione to start over. What if it happened again? Snape couldn't possibly brew a whole new batch inconspicuously, as it was a very time-intensive project and the Headmaster couldn't repeatedly go missing for hours on end without someone noticing.

It would have to be moved to a safer place, surely Snape would realise that; somewhere it could sit unobtrusively for a moon cycle and nothing would interfere with it. Hermione just hoped that both she and Harry were around in a month's time to get back to it. As it stood, now with them no longer under the constraints of school, Harry would think to try to take some kind of action. Perhaps he would go after Nagini next, as she was the only other Horcrux left, as far as _he_ knew.

She banged her head against the bedpost, but stopped when she realised how much like a house-elf she was behaving, punishing herself.

Because she had the coin in her hand, she both felt it burn and saw the message appear at the same time.

_**Potion's secure.**_

Hermione let a sigh escape her in a gust. He'd already removed it to a safe place. Clearly, he was more on top of things than she was, luckily, but that was no excuse for her, merely praise for him. She needed to regroup within herself. She needed to make new lists and timelines, get things sorted out. But not before she coined him back.

_You're a lifesaver._

That statement certainly had more truth in it than most people knew, and Hermione only realised it herself after she sent it. Yet, despite the accolade, she felt it still wasn't enough. It didn't really do the man, or her gratitude, justice.

Snape didn't respond to that, and Hermione found herself wishing that just once, she could witness his reaction when he read her messages. Was he touched? Annoyed? Bored by her comments? Not that it mattered just at the moment, as she had more important things to direct her thoughts to, but she had a small amount of difficulty batting the pesky question away. Still, she pulled out parchment and pen (as quills and ink pots simply weren't practical when on the run) and started anew on her lists.

"Mione?" asked a sleepy Harry, rubbing his eyes and squinting at her through the meagre light of her wand.

"It's nothing, Harry. Go back to sleep," she whispered softly.

"Y'sure?" he mumbled.

"Everything's fine. Just a bit restless. Sleep, now."

He nodded and sighed, closing his eyes and gently flopping back onto the pillow she'd transfigured for him. He seemed to fall back instantly into slumber, and Hermione found herself just watching him for a while. For all that he had seemed so confident, so cocky when he'd greeted her and Ron once they'd escaped the Ministry that afternoon, she couldn't help but notice the slight shadows under his eyes, which weren't just due to the inadequate light. He must have been a few nights without sleep, Hermione thought, and felt suddenly guilty. His fatigue was probably due to her capture, and she once again tenderly watched him doze.

She sighed, and whispered, "I love you, Harry."

He stirred slightly. "Love you too, Mione," he replied, to her complete surprise. She thought he'd been asleep.

x

_Yes_. Just as Severus had hoped, the Carrows' punishment was thoroughly satisfying when it came two days after Harry Potter had released the Muggle-borns from the Ministry. He noted with wry pleasure that Alecto hadn't endured the Cruciatus nearly so well as one Hermione Granger. Amycus, too, had screeched piercingly high shrieks which Severus had absorbed into his being as if it had been the opus of a master musician. Yes, in his younger days, the suffering of any person (it didn't matter who, so long as it wasn't himself) had given him equal pleasure. He'd been so miserable, it was a balm of sorts to hear audible proof that others were suffering too. It wasn't uncommon among Death Eaters to appreciate the agony of others, but since Lily's death, no, even before that, Severus hadn't enjoyed the screams unless they'd come from his fellow brethren in the Dark Lord's circle.

And oh, how he longed to hear Pettigrew's cries… and longed even more to be the cause of them.

Safely concealed in trailing cloak sleeves, Severus' hands clenched at the thought, one around his wand, the other around his sickle.

_Breathe_, he told himself. It wouldn't do to let any sign of those thoughts out, either from his expression or his mind. He gave the coin two rubs with his thumb, releasing the last vapours of murderous thought… for now. He was stone cold again, his Occlumency shields fully erect and impregnable.

.

Back at Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley proved to be a wearisome nuisance, and Severus felt that he spent half his time and all his energy keeping those two from getting themselves tortured by the Carrows. Fortunately for the young ones, they were both of immaculately pure blood, for all they were considered traitors. That fact, combined with Severus' own efforts (made all the more exhausting by needing to keep them covert and untraceable) kept them alive.

His head was pounding, and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, though he could feel Dumbledore's silent gaze upon him as he sat at his desk.

'_Leave me alone, old man,'_ he thought. Severus knew it would be in character to snarl aloud at Dumbledore's portrait, but long-instilled habit prevented him from saying anything he actually felt. That, and he couldn't bring himself to snap at those familiar blue eyes, for all that he knew they were only paint on canvas. Disturbingly lifelike, yes, but merely tint and dye. Yes, the late Headmaster had made his life miserable, and on one level, Severus truly hated him, but the thought of bawling out Albus (or even just his portrait), saying the things he really thought, caused Severus' throat to clench. He simply couldn't bring himself to do it. Until he completed Dumbledore's mission, he was still Dumbledore's man. And as he wasn't likely to survive, that meant he'd die Dumbledore's man too.

Severus decided that, considering the alternatives, it wasn't such a bad death, no matter the manner in which that eventuality came to pass.

He sighed in relief when his sickle distracted him by warming.

HG

Contrary to her initial supposition, Harry didn't want to immediately rush in and kill Nagini and Voldemort. Hermione knew that they had to wait for the potion to be ready, but Harry did not, which meant that he had some other reason for delay. One look at Harry was enough to find out what that reason was.

He was afraid, as anyone with a working brain would be. Many times throughout the day, Harry would get this far-off look and fall silent for long stretches at a time. It was clear he was doubting his ability to do what the world expected of him. Hermione sympathised, but could never bring herself to offer kind words of encouragement or consolation. She knew they would be empty and wouldn't help. She had, one time, told him that they would always be there for him, that he wasn't alone, but she wasn't sure that was much comfort. In fact, she got the impression that it only made Harry feel guilty for (in his mind) dragging them along into inevitable danger.

Still, the longer it took him to pluck up the courage to go after Voldemort, the better, so far as Hermione was concerned. Meanwhile, she, Ron, and Harry practiced, trained, and Occluded their minds.

She made it a point to contact Snape once a day to check in, confirming that they were all still safe and still alive, and enquiring about him, likewise. Sometimes these sickled conversations were brief, just a single-line response and that was it. Other times, it was a bit more prolonged, including other smaller updates about the castle, weather, or news, as she had no other means of collecting it. Even if the owls could find her, the Prophet wasn't exactly reliable. She far preferred to get her information from the source, for all that they were cramped little missives.

_**'Watch for Snatchers,'**_ had been one such advisory, followed by what actions to take and spells to use to hide their little tent even more effectively. The boys didn't once question her knowledge or spellwork, and Hermione couldn't help but lament thinking that Harry and Ron certainly had an overestimation of her abilities. She wasn't an incapable witch, by any means, but Snape's aid was causing her to misrepresent herself. She wanted to tell the boys that she really wasn't _that_ clever, that she didn't know _everything_, but she couldn't. She knew the boys would never trust Snape, nor was it safe for anyone else to know his true loyalties. Her own knowledge was more dangerous than it was probably worth, as her Obliviation scare had already proved. So it was just one more thing she'd have to carry by herself; she'd just have to strive to be as reliable and able as they thought she was.

.

And so it was for a fortnight, until one night over a simple meal, Harry spoke.

"Where do you think Voldemort actually is?" he intoned quietly, the query almost lost in the clatter of knife and fork against plate and the flapping tent in the wind.

"What?" Hermione asked, unsure if she'd actually heard what she thought she had.

"Where _is_ he? Where is Nagini? They have to have _somewhere_ they consider home, or Headquarters, or something. I know I could lure Voldemort out to me, but it's not likely that he'd take that snake with him, and we need to kill it first, so we have to go to him… wherever that might be." He said all of this as he stared at his plate, not looking at either her or Ron.

"Well…" began Ron, speaking despite his sudden paleness. "He might have erected a place for the purpose, or he could be at one of his Death Eaters' houses. You, er…" Here, Ron looked nervously at Hermione before turning back to Harry. "You haven't seen anything, have you? Something that might give us a hint?"

Hermione drew in a breath and held it until Harry gave his answer. Shaking his head, he said, "No. I haven't seen anything in ages. Not since…" Here, he nodded at her, signifying her forced Occlumency lessons. It gratified Hermione that their sessions had been efficacious, but Harry and Ron had brought up a very good point. They _didn't_ know where to find Nagini, and she would, necessarily, need to die first, whether the potion was complete or not.

Hermione thought she might be able to find out, if she went about it the right way. Snape was certain to know, but what was less certain was that he would share that information with her. It indubitably wasn't a quick question she could send with her sickle. Snape would never answer, thinking (rightly) that they meant to go there. But… if she brought up their concern with him, for surely he knew that Nagini had to die _somehow_, he might share with her some information. Being in a closer position to do it, he might even be able to kill the serpent himself, making it look like an accident or chance, but she wouldn't presume, wouldn't ask him to take on yet another task. If it were discovered that he had been responsible for Nagini's death, if Voldemort learnt that Snape had (seemingly inadvertently) slain his most beloved Horcrux, his own familiar… Hermione shuddered at the thought.

If she, Harry and Ron killed the snake, however… well, they were already on Voldemort's death list anyway. They only needed to take thought as to how to kill the serpent without making it clear that that was their purpose, and therefore letting Voldemort know that they were aware about the Horcruxes.

It was all overwhelming to contemplate, for Hermione, at any rate, but judging by Harry's and Ron's expressions, for them too. Planning and theorising was disconcerting enough, imagining actually _doing _it left her short of breath. Were they really talking about going into Voldemort's lair, slaying a massive snake and then letting Harry fight the dark wizard himself as she and Ron were left to deal with all the remaining Death Eaters?

She shook her head. There was no way just the three of them would accomplish it. It was, if not impossible, _highly_ improbable. One thing she did know was that she needed to have a tête-à-tête with one Severus Snape. The only trouble would be in finding a legitimate reason for her leaving the boys on her own. She'd think of something, though. She usually did.

.

Inspiration came to her late that night. She, Harry, and Ron were still awake, drinking tepid tea. It wasn't that they couldn't boil water properly, just that their tea mugs went neglected as they grew lost in thought, and the beverages had cooled before they'd remembered to drink them.

"We'll need to get the sword of Gryffindor out of the Headmaster's office," she stated, launching her plan.

"What?" asked Ron.

"The only thing we have to hand to kill a Horcrux is that basilisk fang. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to go after that snake with just a fang. It would bite me before I got close enough to use it. I think our sword is a better option."

"Not _much_ better," said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to her bespectacled friend. "You killed a basilisk with that sword, Harry. Nagini's not nearly so big or deadly," she said.

Harry, to his credit, laughed at her making light of the daunting task. "Sure. No problem," he replied with sarcastic amusement.

"Well, it's better than that fang… or nothing at all," she groused.

Harry smirked at her, a tired but genuine smile. "You're right. Perhaps if I could stun it first, and cutting it in half would definitely be faster than poking at it with the fang and waiting around for the venom to spread… and the spell to wear off."

"There's just the small matter of getting the sword, finding You-Know-Who's lair, and then finding Nagini that's left," said Ron with sardonic cheer.

"The getting of the sword is easy enough. You said it wasn't very difficult to get into his office. Even if the password has changed, all I have to do is wait at the gargoyle to hear someone say the new one, then when I see him leave, I can slip in and out in a minute."

"_You?_" said Harry pointedly. "What happened to _we_?"

"Well," she said, embarrassedly, looking around the room so as to not meet the boys' eyes, lest they detect a hint of deception. "It's too risky for all of us to go under the Cloak."

"You're hiding something, Hermione. You won't look at us," Harry observed.

Hermione cursed herself for being so obvious, but a quick and truthful lie sprang to mind almost instantly.

"It's the sword we need to focus on. I'm afraid that if you two go, you'll be tempted to attack Snape while you're there. And we can't afford distractions." She looked apologetically at the boys. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's not that I think you're weak or can't resist the temptation, but I don't want you to suffer having to see him, or…" She glanced quickly at Ron, then away again before she hurried on. "Or Ginny and be tempted to stray from the plan, endangering you both. That, and I'll admit that I was hoping to… erm… borrow a few books from the library while I was there. You could get them for me, but I'm not quite sure which ones I'll want until I have a look round."

She waited for their responses to this. At the time she'd said it, Hermione could tell that her comment about being tempted to see Ginny had struck some chord in Harry. If he did go to Hogwarts, he _would_ want to stop and see her, which was an incredible risk to both of them. Not that her visiting Snape would be any less risky (quite the reverse), though it would hardly be a rendezvous between lovers. It was a necessity to the war.

Ron, she thought, might have been convinced by her need to consult the library. If she was going to continue to pull out all this knowledge she had no business knowing, she might as well give herself a legitimate source. Clearly, they must think she learnt it from _somewhere_, and saying she needed the library fit perfectly into the scheme. And if she had any time at all and it was safe to do so, she _would_ go to do a bit of research.

Harry turned to Ron. "What do you think?" Ron then turned to Hermione and studied her for a long moment, making her feel almost uncomfortable as he watched her worriedly, chewing on his bottom lip as he examined every aspect of her face, seeming to see things that weren't even there.

"If she takes a mirror with her…" he began slowly, promisingly. "And reports back to us every few minutes with where she is, and we are waiting, hiding on the grounds somewhere, ready to come if she's late in contacting us, we can go get her if anything happens."

Yes, yes, that would work except that she planned on being with Snape for a portion of the time, and who knew where in the castle that would be. The boys would be able to roughly see her location in the mirror, and that might be difficult to explain.

As Harry was nodding slowly, either in agreement or processing these provisos, Hermione added, "Excellent, only much of the time, I expect I'll have to keep silent. I'll take the mirror, but perhaps it would be better if we made another pair of galleons with Protean charms on them. I can send you messages continually without having to risk speaking."

"All right," Harry said finally, and Hermione stopped herself from sighing audibly in relief. "We can watch her on my father's Map so we can know where she is at all times, should something go wrong."

_No!_ That wouldn't do at all. "I'd feel much better having the Map with me so I can _avoid_ any possible danger to start with, rather than find it and have you two risk coming in to get me. If I haven't contacted you in time and you think I'm in trouble, you can have Dobby find me like you did last time, can't you?" she pleaded.

"Yeah, I suppose that makes sense," said Ron. "He was really quick last time. And it _would_ be better for you to be able to know when Snape's in or out of his office, and when he's coming back."

"Thank you," she said, and this time she _did_ sigh.

They still didn't know _where_ to find Nagini, but in light of being able to organise a feat they _could_ accomplish, that had been momentarily pushed aside. Besides, if all went well with Snape, she might find out not only where to find the snake, but also a better way of dispatching it.

.

'_I'm in the castle,' _she sent via _both _coins, nervously checking the time every few seconds. No response came from the gold galleon, but the silver sickle warmed up almost at once.

_**Where.**_

Hermione checked the Map, and waited until she was in a better location before sending a reply. The location, she decided, was the Headmaster's office. The Map showed that Snape wasn't there, and Hermione thought it was as good a place as any, as she needed to get the sword from it anyway, that is… _if_ the sword was still there. Something she hadn't considered was that perhaps a Slytherin Headmaster wouldn't keep the sword of _Gryffindor_ in place of pride in his office.

Something else she hadn't thought of was the possibility that Snape had placed traps in his office to discourage unwelcome visitors. Harry and Ron had got in and out easily, but only because Snape had _wanted_ them to. It didn't necessarily follow that the rest of the world would find it equally accessible. Still, Hermione tried, and quite vigilantly, she entered his office, on guard for any possible attack.

There wasn't any, but there _were_ several portraits chatting to each other from their frames or dozing in idle boredom. Hermione's breath caught when she saw Albus Dumbledore sleeping peacefully where he sat.

_Oh dear, and Professor Snape has to look at him every day,_ Hermione thought. _How cruel._

She looked around the room, searching for the sword. She checked the time again and hastily sent another message to the boys. The last thing she needed was to forget while she was talking to Snape, and have Harry and Ron come charging in.

She took herself off to an almost hidden side-room, hoping there she would be free of curious portraits. It startled Hermione to realise that she'd wandered into Albus Dumbledore's old bedroom. Presumably it was Snape's now, but if it was, she couldn't tell that he'd changed anything about it. At least, she _assumed_ he wouldn't choose Gryffindor reds and vibrant purples for himself. Nor did she imagine Snape would include doilies in his decorating.

Assured that their meeting there would have no witnesses, she finally sickled him back.

_Your office. Bedroom._

She waited for a few minutes, expecting either a reply or to hear his entry into his office. His entrance was impossible to miss. The door swung open and then shut with a loud and reverberating _SLAM_, causing Hermione to jump. Oh, but he was angry, she hadn't even seen him yet, but she knew it was true. It would only be another moment or two before he would be upon her, yet she found herself wishing to postpone that moment.

Her wishes went unheard as he thundered into the room, safe from the peering eyes of portraits, but not from their ears, if he intended to bellow at her as his expression plainly suggested. She quickly closed the door and cast a silencing charm, an action which he noticed. Despite the fact that he knew he could now yell without reservation, the silence charms seemed to have the opposite effect, and he took a deep breath and spoke in a low, quiet voice.

"_What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"_ he growled dangerously.

Hermione, a Gryffindor for a reason, lifted her chin and ignored her quivering knees. "Ostensibly, I've come to get the sword of Gryffindor," she stated boldly, and waited for this to sink in.

She watched as the cogs in his mind whirred to work this out. Hermione wasn't surprised when that quick wit zeroed in on the correct assumption in no time at all. "You're going after Nagini," he said in disapproval, or what sounded like disapproval. She couldn't be sure; it might have been dread, or even resignation.

.

"It has to be done, either way," Hermione ventured after a time of silence. "Nagini has to die before Vol—You-Know-Who." Snape, who had since taken himself off to stand on the other side of the room to think, didn't acknowledge her comment above a slightly louder exhalation than usual. So Hermione waited until he'd finished thinking through whatever it was that so occupied him. He did not ask if they knew where Voldemort was, and Hermione was not inclined to admit her ignorance… just yet, at any rate.

SS

Severus had to resign himself to the fact that it was just as unlikely that Granger would survive this war as he would. The thought chafed.

Still, Potter and Weasley weren't as hopeless as he'd previously thought. They'd manage to break into the Ministry, after all. Perhaps, aided by Granger's wit and his information, they _might_ make it in and out of Malfoy Manor without notice.

No, Lily's boy simply couldn't be allowed to go. The risk was too great, the chance of success too small, unless it was after the potion was complete and it was to be the final confrontation. In which case, Severus wanted to be there. If the boy failed, then the Prophecy be damned. All the Horcruxes would be gone and Severus would try to kill his Master … again. Then he'd find Pettigrew before he had the chance to scamper.

"When?" he asked. Granger looked up, surprised, but answered all the same.

"Preferably after he's taken the potion, that way if we don't make it out, we still have a chance of… ending it." He nodded, hearing his own thoughts echoed back in Granger's voice. "Truthfully, the sword was the story I gave the boys, as they were thinking about Nagini, anyway. My real reason for coming here was to see you."

He looked up, and seeing that her eyes were staring directly at him, he quickly looked away again. Luckily, she started speaking again so he didn't have to.

"We need to plan the final encounter. Hopefully, we can arrange it so that Harry has a bit of a chance." She said this as if it were disloyal to admit that her friend needed all the luck he could get. "Oh!"

This exclamation turned his gaze back to her, but by this time, she was writing a message on a different coin other than her sickle. "If I don't report in regularly, they will come in after me," she explained. When she finished, she sighed and looked up at him. "I don't know how you do it, really, I don't."

"Do what?" he asked, feeling immediately defensive.

"Do everything you have to do and manage to stay sane, or keep from tearing your hair out. Mine comes out in clumps," she said, and demonstrated how she clutched her hair. A few strands came away when she brought her hand back. Hardly a clump, by his standards. A thought occurred to him, then. It might not work, but it was worth the attempt.

"My sanity is quickly depleting, thanks to your friends, Longbottom and the youngest Weasley. They seem determined to 'stand up' against the Carrows. Now that you and Potter are gone, there is no order in Gryffindor, and they are doing increasingly foolish things." He didn't want to admit this next part, but it wasn't as if she didn't already know about it, anyway. "It makes my job of keeping them safe much more difficult. If you could get word to them, tell them to tone it down, it would be… appreciated."

He winced inwardly at this, but she didn't seem to notice his embarrassment or reluctance to ask for her help. She took it in stride, saying, "Of course. I'm surprised Professor McGonagall hasn't already."

"She's _proud_ of them," he snarled. Stupid children making brash statements and foolhardy gestures. Perhaps if Severus allowed them to be caught just once, Minerva wouldn't egg them on so, having seen the consequences their antics could achieve.

"I'll give them something to do to make them feel more productive. A secret project or something so they won't act out." She smiled at him. "I'm sure you've noticed, but Gryffindors like to take action."

He snorted. "I had." In fact, he'd all but counted on it in order to get her out of the Ministry.

Then they turned to the real business at hand, planning how to give Harry Potter a chance at overcoming the most powerful wizard alive. It had been luck that sustained him thus far, luck and Lily's love, but that protection had been stolen from him, along with his blood, when the Dark Lord had been resurrected three years previously.

"What if," Granger began uncertainly, "someone else were to sacrifice herself for Harry?" It was as if she'd been reading his thoughts. "I mean, I could never get Harry to agree, but if he had that protection again—"

"No," Severus interjected immediately, not having understood initially that she'd meant herself. "Enough people have already died on that boy's behalf," he snapped.

She cleared her throat. "We'll put that under last resorts, then," she said, as if he hadn't spoken. Their list of last resorts was steadily growing, but the option for an actual viable plan remained woefully unfilled. As much as Severus hated to admit it, another sacrifice _did_ seem to be the soundest plan, and Potter had a long list of followers that would no doubt be willing to lay down their lives for him. Severus' lip curled bitterly at the thought.

They continued brainstorming, her stopping to put a message on the Galleon every few minutes. Each time she made a suggestion, Severus shot it down; similarly, any plan he could come up with, Granger pointed out its impossibility.

Finally, they came up with an extremely tentative plan to which they both hesitantly agreed, and then there was silence again. It seemed that half the time spent with the Granger woman passed quiescent. He didn't mind the quiet, not when it wasn't so loud as to press in on him from all sides. Her sighs, the sounds her nails made against her scalp when she ran her fingers through her hair, the way she occasionally sniffed, or the rustling of her robes when she shifted made the quiet less daunting. Less devoid. Less agonising and terrifyingly lonely.

HG

She'd accomplished what she'd come to do (including having learnt that Nagini was at Malfoy Manor), and yet she was reluctant to leave. The truth was, she wanted a reason to stay with him longer, but couldn't think of one. She couldn't come up with an excuse to continue keeping him company. More importantly, she couldn't come up with a reason why she should even _want_ to.

In the end, she awkwardly fell back on the oldest excuse in English history. "I don't suppose there's time for some tea, before I go?" she enquired, knowing that she probably sounded stupid. Judging by Snape's expression, he thought her mad as well. His apparent surprise at her request was matched by her own at his delayed response. "Of course."

SS

How easy it was to forget the simple things, like needing food and drink. Severus had no appetite to speak of, and were it not for daily scheduled meals, he might very well forget about his victuals altogether. It was a bit of a shock to remember that despite all the stress, secrecy, and scheming, one still needed to pay attention to the basics. Her not having been in the castle, Severus didn't know when her last meal had been. Chancing another glance at her, he noticed she had lost weight, not because he had ever paid attention to her figure, but because he could tell when robes were too large. He had been a gangly child, and for the sake of economy, his mother had bought his robes several sizes too large, promising he'd 'grow into them.' In seven years at Hogwarts, Severus had only had two sets. His insistence in his adulthood to always be immaculately clad in perfectly tailored robes was probably a throwback from being made fun of for his baggy clothes as a child.

Shaking off these thoughts, he stepped back into his office and called a house-elf, ensuring that a decent amount of edibles was included with his (customarily neglected) tea.

.

Long after Granger had gone, Severus refused to let the house-elves tidy the room. Something irrational within him wanted the tea things to stay there, crumbs and all. Even hours later, when he glanced at the used pot and cups, it appeared as if she'd just left. It stood as testament, as proof that she'd been there, that he'd accomplished something with his day, that he was still on the right side, despite having diverted from Dumbledore's plan. No one was supposed to know, but someone did.

And she'd had tea in his room.

HG

Despite it being the precise reason why she told Harry he couldn't come, she thought to find Ginny and Neville, to relay the message Snape had given her. Hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, she sighed. Her admiration for Severus Snape grew every time she saw him. All that he went through without a word of thanks or acknowledgement, it was remarkable. Hermione admitted that she thrived on praise. She needed encouragement and confirmation from others. Granted, Snape had never been forthcoming with that kind of reassurance, so it _might_ stand to reason that he himself didn't need it, but that was a gross assumption, one she couldn't possibly check, even if she wanted to. It was possible, she supposed, that he didn't _want_ credit or affirmation, but it was hard to conceive. There was being a loner, and there was taking the pressures of an entire war secretly upon your shoulders. They were two very different things, and she worried for Snape's well being. Not that she wouldn't try to contain Ginny and Neville for their own sakes, but it sounded as if keeping them out of the Carrows' clutches was draining Snape of more time and energy than he had.

Thinking better of actually seeking them out, she withdrew to an unused classroom and pulled out parchment and penned them a letter, which she intended to have Dobby hand-deliver to them. She took a few liberties, conveying messages from Harry and Ron as well. She felt unnervingly like Sirius, in a strange way. When _he'd_ been on the run, he'd written Harry continuously, stressing to 'keep his head down.' Now she was on the run, doing the same.

She gave them no indication of what they were doing, or where they were, only to give them the advice to lie low, but be ready at any moment they gave the word. That would ensure that they would stay sharp, keep practicing, and stay out of trouble… she hoped.

She sent the boys a message saying she'd be out soon, regretting that she hadn't been able to make it to the library, but couldn't in good conscience keep them waiting any longer. Her note to Ginny and Neville successfully dispatched (with an actual _command_ to Dobby, ordering him not to tell anyone she'd been there), Hermione made her way out of the castle, only to come upon Crookshanks. Or perhaps it was Crooks coming upon her. He seemed to know she was there, despite her being hidden under the Invisibility Cloak.

She glanced around to make sure no one was there to witness a cat rubbing up against an invisible leg, then crouched down to scratch him through the silvery fabric. "I miss you too, Crooky," she confessed, quite truthfully. He would be a welcome presence in that tent, on her bed at night, but that wasn't an option. Not really. Instead, she had an idea.

"Can you do something for me, Crooks?" she asked in a hushed voice. He only purred in response, continuing to rub on her knee as she crouched. "Watch over the Headmaster. He's a good man and needs all the help he can get, do you understand?" More purring and nuzzling, he even batted at the edge of the Cloak. She didn't doubt for a moment that it would be done, though. "Thanks. I have to go, Crooks, but I'll be back. I'll see you soon."

She was prevented from kissing his furry head by the silky material that kept her from being seen, but she bent and pressed her nose to him and made the sound anyway. When she stood to go, the sword clanked loudly on the floor, and Hermione winced, suppressing an oath, and held her breath, hoping no one had heard. When no one came to investigate, she continued on her way out, meeting up with the boys, presenting them with the sword of Gryffindor, a secret weight pressing on her chest at the deception. She'd deceived her parents and she was deceiving Harry and Ron too. She felt rotten, but at the same time, it was for a good cause. How did Severus Snape handle it? And what gave her the right to determine what was best? She was no better than Dumbledore, manoeuvring people about as if they were pawns on a chessboard.

Hermione felt suddenly sick to her stomach, and doubled over slightly in effort to keep down everything Snape had been kind enough to feed her. She hadn't told Snape about what she'd done to her parents, and realised only now that she wished she had. She wished she had confided in him, not with all the details, of course, she and only she would know exactly where they were, but she wanted to confess to someone who might not be so sympathetic. Harry and Ron were wonderful, but they only told her it was for the best, that she had to in order to protect them. She didn't want that. She wanted someone to tell her she'd taken things too far, that she needed to stop, slow down, stop making decisions for everyone without their consent.

"You all right, Mione?" Ron asked, putting a hand on her back, as if anticipating her vomiting.

"Fine," she said. "I'm fine. Let's go back."


	19. Both Guilt and Reverence

_**Author's Note:**__ This is going to be just like my other author's note for my other story. __Yes, it has been a long time. I've been at sea, sailing around the South of Africa, Atlantic and Indian Ocean (eeeeeeeevil ocean.) But it wasn't without its misadventures (of course, this __**is **__me after all). Apart from the odd broken bone, infected wound and sailing in the most terrifying weather imaginable (over 60 knots of wind and 8.5 metre swells, tropical storms etc) I got so dangerously sick on the Indian Ocean they tried to radio in for help, but we were in such a terrible storm, being tossed around the sea like a toy in a toilet bowl (two Frenchman off Madagascar were actually lost forever in that same storm) we couldn't get through to anyone, and couldn't even cross the current to head back to land. Those were very tense and dangerous days, the crew thinking I was going to die, and that perhaps they might as well, what with the waves kept pounding us like a battering ram on the beam, threatening to capsize us and beat us to bits. But it's always darkest before the dawn, they say, and after the fourth of fifth day (I'm not so sure, I wasn't exactly lucid at this point) the weather finally calmed (a bit… less than 30 knots anyway) and we got radio connection and headed back for the South African coast. Sea Rescue zoomed out and got me, took me to land, loaded me on an ambulance and took me to the ER. "Lucky to be alive" they keep telling me… again. Seems to be a trend. So they flew me back for my convalescence in a small quiet town, and once I was able to drink, eat, and stand without falling over, I went back out to sea, got sick again due to a completely tanked immune system, and went __**back**__ into recovery. Lost about a month of my life lying in bed, doing nothing more exciting than the occasional walk to the sea side for tea with the 68 year old lady whose job it was to mind me. Don't get me wrong, she is a lovely lady, but being an invalid is no fun at all._

_So then I flew to Mozambique to jump on a boat and sail it back to Cape Town. I just arrived and what's the first thing I do? Post this chapter… I hope the chapter doesn't disappoint after the long wait._

**Chapter 19:** _**Both Guilt and Reverence**_

Severus didn't know what Granger had said to Longbottom and the Weasley girl, but it had worked. Of course, he got the impression that they were merely biding their time before their next uprising, but for now, it was a relief that they kept all their activities to themselves. That was one less thing he had to worry about for the present. Actually, Granger may have removed one obstacle, but she had presented him with an even greater one.

Killing Nagini.

He wasn't content with the plan they'd agreed upon, and he was certain she wasn't either. She'd been messaging him with the sickle with committed consistency, which Severus had come to greatly rely upon. The missives used to come once every other day, then daily. Since she'd had tea, he'd transfigured the coin to mould to the inside of his pocket watch, so he could continually consult it without raising suspicion, on account that he now could expect with regularity two messages a day at least, once before breakfast and once after dinner. It wasn't uncommon to hear from her in between either, which turned into an added bonus as the warmth of that coin seemed to reciprocally cool his blood as he went about his stress-filled days. It didn't really matter what she said either, even if it was to present him with another problem. Usually it wasn't too taxing, a quick question on brewing the Wolfsbane (which she completed successfully yet again) or the dark arts, or queries about his health and wellbeing. The latter he didn't know how to handle, so they went unanswered, if not unappreciated. He simply wasn't accustomed to being cared for. Presumably Albus had cared for him, or at least had pretended to. It was as difficult to tell now as it had been at the time if the Headmaster had actually cared about _him_ or if he only cared about what Severus could _do_ for him.

It didn't bear thinking on now anyway, despite the fact that the man's portrait hung conspicuously in his office, tauntingly, as a constant reminder. Every now and again, he'd lock eyes with Albus Dumbledore's moving likeness. He often felt that there was some message in those looks, but Severus was at a loss as to what that message might be. One couldn't use Occlumency on a portrait.

HG

Thinking about her parents made her want to cry, no matter when her thoughts strayed that way. At this particular instance, she sat having breakfast, staring into her plate of beans, and for no reason the boys could discern, she burst into tears.

She'd made a mistake. A very great and intractable mistake. And she continued to make them, that was the worst thing. She hadn't learned from it, but continued to repeat them.

She waved off the boys' attempts at pacification after she explained what was on her mind. She'd heard their arguments before, and knew just as the boys did that they did no good, partly because they only knew half of the problem.

"You don't understand," Hermione choked out through sobs. "I can't believe I did it. That I'm _still_ doing it. What right do I have to make these ki—kinds of decisions? Taking matters, other people's _lives_ into my own ha—hands? I can't… there's no defence for it. No—no justification. I'm so—so— sorry, Harry!"

Harry, looking baffled, asked, "Why are you apologising to me?"

Ron, looking just as confused but also a bit offended and left out that it was Harry at whom this mysterious apology was directed, and not him as well, asked, "Yeah, why Harry?"

"There's something I haven't told you," she said, doing her best to regain even breathing. She needed to stop this blubbering at once if she wanted to make any sort of sense to the boys. "Nagini isn't the last Horcrux."

"What?" both boys asked as one.

"I think that Voldemort made another one, at the very last. Accidentally. An intended murder and leaving a bit of himself behind…"

"Where is it? Do you know?" asked Harry eagerly. "We can go for it before Nagini."

Ron, however, seemed to understand, his comprehension accompanied by all the colour draining from his face. "No…" he said solemnly. "We can't."

At this Harry turned to his other best friend. "You know too? Why didn't you tell me this sooner? We've been sitting around doing nothing for weeks when we could have been going after the other Horcrux."

Harry's obvious lack of understanding caused Hermione's face to crumple once again in tears. "Don't you see, Harry. It's _you_. Voldemort accidentally left part of himself in _you_."

His manifold reaction began with anger, which soon gave way to shocked disbelief, then he tried rationalising with both her and Ron before he finally fell silent, accepting. It was as if he'd gone through all the stages of mourning, but oddly, for his own life.

"This… doesn't change anything," he said at last. "We still have to kill Nagini first. I just have to make sure that Voldemort and I cast the killing curse at the same time."

"_Neither can live while the other survives_," quoted Ron softly.

"No," said Hermione. "You might not have to die."

"Yes," said Harry, now taken up with his new role with grim certainty. "I do. I think I always knew it too."

"But we _can_ _try_ to destroy the Horcrux," Hermione insisted, rising to her feet.

Harry shook his head. "As gross as it is to think about, Voldemort's soul is a part of me. I can see that now. It explains everything. It's not some sort of tumour we can cut out and destroy separately with the sword of Gryffindor. I _am_ the Horcrux. _I _have to be destroyed."

She started pacing as she nervously wrung her hands. "But that's what I've been trying to tell you, Harry. All this time, I've gone behind your back, without telling you, without consulting you. I've been working at it for months." (With a considerable amount of Snape's help, granted.) "I didn't tell you because at first I was afraid it wouldn't work. Now I'm… slightly more optimistic." Actually she hadn't meant to make this confession just yet, but now that it had all tumbled out, she might as well act like it had been her plan.

Ron grasped at this far more hopefully and enthusiastically than Harry did. Whether it was because Harry had already resigned himself to death, or Ron had much more faith in her, Hermione couldn't guess. Perhaps both. Still, she pressed on.

"All I need now is some of your blood, but we'll have to wait for the right moon phase."

"It's a potion?" asked Ron, looking a bit sceptical.

"Yes. One I_ hope_ will distinguish Harry from Voldemort."

"Brilliant!" said Ron, who once again took the fact that she had brewed a practically impossible potion for granted. He'd simply accepted the fact that, as usual, she'd somehow found a solution to their latest problem, probably by researching it in the library… as if it had been that simple. Still, she couldn't very well correct this misperception now. Maybe not ever.

"Harry?" she entreated.

After a time, he finally spoke. "You're right."

"I am?" she asked hopefully.

"You _don't_ have the right to always take matters into your own hands, to make everyone's decisions for them," he said bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to look at her.

It struck Hermione as powerfully as a slap in the face, and she was, for a moment, paralysed by the shock, the hurt, the truth of it. She'd wanted them to understand what a horrible person she was, how unforgivably she'd behaved, but she'd always assumed that she would, inconsistently, be forgiven anyway.

She swayed on the spot, unable to reply.

"Oi!" said Ron, getting angrily to his feet to stand behind her, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders. "That's rich, coming from you, mate. Ever since first year, you've always taken matters into your own hands! The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, going to the Ministry on thestrals! Any time anything happened, you went off and did what _you_ thought best, without consulting anyone! Hermione was only trying to help you! She hasn't done anything, changed anything, but given you a choice! She might not have told us as soon as we would have liked, but how many times have _you_ kept things from _us_, eh? Don't even bother trying to count them all! So don't make Hermione feel bad when all she wanted to do was try to save your life! So stop being so buggering hypocritical and just be thankful!"

Hermione suspected that Harry was as shocked as she was by this furious speech, but probably for different reasons. She couldn't even identify all the separate parts in this amalgam of feelings she experienced.

"Fine," said Harry coldly, moving to leave. "Might have known," he mumbled disgustedly, and punched the tent flap aside and stormed out.

Hermione could do naught but blink after him.

"Don't worry about him, Mione," Ron whispered coaxingly in her ear. "He'll come round. You've done a brilliant thing."

Still numb from shock, Hermione didn't move when Ron snaked his arms around her as he spoke, pressing into her from behind, burying his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck.

SS

Really, Amycus Carrow was the most appalling Potions instructor, Severus noted exasperatedly. No wonder the Dark Lord had made Severus promise to help Amycus along. Without Severus' continual monitoring, nothing would ever get done. The students were afraid of Carrow, certainly, for all that they despised him, much like they had Severus when _he_ had been teaching. But Severus had at least undertaken to instruct his students, whereas Carrow simply encouraged learning by making the students do it all by themselves) and punishing them if they got it wrong. The inductive method, while it had its appeal, was disastrous when taking into account how volatile potions could be.

Because of all this, Severus had spent a greater part of the morning cleaning up after yet another brewing disaster. Cleaning up in the figurative sense. The actual scrubbing would be left to the house-elves, naturally. Or rather, he'd give it to a student, should they have detention. He'd spare them a session with the Carrows and put them to work cleaning the dungeons. That would be a welcome change. Severus was growing more and more hard-pressed to find other punishments for students unlucky enough to be assigned detentions. Severus knew that he had been slightly less than fair when he assigned his detentions, but he was nothing compared to the Carrows, particularly Alecto. Lately she'd been giving the younger years detentions in the forest with Hagrid. But while this was terrifying for the students, Severus knew they were safe from most dangers in the company of the half-giant. Certainly more safe than they would be in the company of the Death Eater siblings.

His pocket warmed, signalling a welcome distraction in the form of a message from Granger.

'_I told Harry,' _it read.

When he asked her what it was exactly that she'd told Potter, she replied, '_The potion.'_

_**And?**_

_He left. He's x with me._

Cross with her? The damned-fool boy. One would think that upon hearing the news that he might not have to die after all, that the stupid boy might show a bit of gratitude, but apparently that was beyond him. Severus wasn't unaware of the hypocrisy. He knew that he was an ungrateful bastard, which is why he could so easily recognize and despise it in others. Not that he had anything to be grateful for. Potter, on the other hand, had been given everything, was followed and adored by loyal and loving supporters. He seemed to accept the sacrifices of the time and lives of many people as simply his due, took it for granted, didn't spare a thought to others who toiled away for _him_.

Not that Severus wanted Potter to know how hard he worked to protect him. But one would think he could at least appreciate the efforts of his own friend.

"Bah," he breathed. What did he care about Granger and Potter's friendship anyway? What _did_ concern him was that Potter had gone off. Though clearly Granger wasn't too worried about him having gone far. She must be somewhat confident of his safety and imminent return, else she'd have said otherwise.

Sure enough, that afternoon came the reassuring update.

_He's back._

_**Damned fool**_**.**

_Me or Harry?_

_**Should be obvious.**_

_I'm not so sure…_

Severus didn't know how to reply to this, so he didn't. He had other work to do anyway, and didn't have time to continue staring at his pocket watch.

He felt the coin warm several hours later, but didn't have the opportunity to check it until after dinner. When he finally did get around to opening his transfigured time piece again, he read the latest message in disbelief.

_May I come?_

Come to the castle? No. Absolutely not. It was dangerous, unwise, unnecessary, utterly and completely asinine to even make such a foolish suggestion.

.

.

HG

.

.

_**If you must.**_

Hermione sighed with relief. At first, she'd assumed that his lack of response was the negative answer she'd been expecting. Granted, the planning of the journey to the castle was a stressful process, but the thought of being able to discuss things openly was incentive enough for the troublesome trip. She needed to sort out her head, make sure she was seeing things straight, as it were. Needed to clarify that she was still in possession of her mental faculties and hadn't finally gone batty like many supposed she already had. She felt as if her life had suddenly become a game of blind man's bluff, and she was the blind man, spun around until she didn't know which way was which, and though she _thought_ she was headed toward her goal, she might actually be taking herself further and further from it with each dizzied step.

She needed Snape to steady her, to remove the blindfold. Neither Ron nor Harry could do this, as they were just as confused and addled as she was. Certainly, Ron thought he understood everything, so did Harry, so did she. Trouble was they all understood differently. Someone had to be wrong, and Hermione wanted, _needed_, to know if it was she.

One might justifiably argue that the fact that she was going to Severus Snape, Death Eater and murderer of Albus Dumbledore, might lend itself to the possibility that Hermione certainly was the confused and misguided party, but deep down, she knew she could trust him to put her right… if she was wrong, which she probably was. She'd been telling herself so ever since she'd left her parents in France with different names and memories. Harry, though previously had always told her that her decision-making had been for the best, now thought quite differently. Yes, he'd come back, but he was still sour and pouting. Hermione hadn't even tried speaking to him yet, though Ron had, and with limited success. Harry seemed even angrier at Ron for having taken Hermione's side, even though she herself hadn't.

But she had a hope of clearing her head now. Things would straighten out once she'd seen Snape. Now all that was left was to find out how exactly she would manage it.

She was troubling herself for a time trying to come up with a convincing lie or other to excuse her absence while she went to the castle. Then she thought she might just magically put them to sleep so they wouldn't wake up and find her gone, but she discarded that idea almost as soon as she'd had it for the terrible image flashing through her mind of them being stuck asleep, should they need to wake in the night and flee, or, Merlin forbid, she was unable to come back and magically wake them, leaving them in an eternal unnatural sleep in a tent no one would ever find.

It was a time before she realised she had a legitimate excuse, even if it wasn't the truthful one.

"I'm going to the castle to check on the potion," she declared, adding that she'd take the Invisibility Cloak and Map. Harry didn't say yes or no, but stayed mulishly silent and didn't look at her. Hermione took that to mean begrudging consent. Harry was still too cross with her to speak to her yet or verbally acknowledge that he endorsed the checking of the potion that was somewhat of a bone of contention between them. His silence, though, tacitly signalled his agreement all the same and that perhaps he was starting to come around to the idea.

It was a bit more difficult getting Ron not to follow her, but she finally managed to convince him to stay by vowing use the galleon to message them regularly and insisting that he settle everything with Harry, talk to him man to man. Of course, Hermione really didn't have any notion of what this masculine tête-à-tête should be about, but Ron seemed to think it was a good idea.

.

She disguised herself, naturally, and travelled incognito, first by Muggle bus to the next town where she hailed the Knight Bus. The conductor didn't look too pleased to have her, Hermione was proud to note. Her disguise as a hag was clearly very believable. In fact, she attributed the speed of the trip to the power of her disconcerting costume, for he went out of the way to drop her off in Hogsmeade first before going back to the originally intended route.

She didn't take off the Cloak until she was in the Headmaster's poorly lit but portrait-free suite. The Headmaster himself was not yet in.

This time when she messaged him that she was there, he didn't storm in, blazing with silent fury, but with an equally silent calm. It was almost as disconcerting as his ire, this seeming serenity she knew must be false.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked immediately, knowing that something certainly was wrong. More wrong than usual, that was.

Snape shook his head, eyes closed as if trying to block out the image, whatever it was. Once banished, or so Hermione assumed, he looked at her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, saying the last word with uncharacteristically heavy-handed sarcasm. He didn't usually have to try to be disdainful, it simply came naturally. Hermione deduced (with secret pleasure) that he had to emphasise the derision because on some level, he actually was glad to see her.

"I wanted to talk to you." He raised a mocking brow which didn't daunt her in the slightest. "But if this is a bad time, I could… well, no, I couldn't come back later. But I could wait, or help you with whatever's the matter in the meantime."

He sighed, defeated. "Nothing you need to be concerned about," was his unsatisfactory reply.

"But it concerns you, clearly," she pointed out.

"Yes, but I fail to see how that applies to you," he said mordantly.

This time it was Hermione's turn to sigh in defeat. "Yes, yes, you don't need or want my help. I get it. Serves me right for asking."

Snape smirked at Hermione's own attempt at sarcasm. It couldn't measure up to his, certainly, but it had been a noble effort all the same. He was rubbing off on her, she reckoned, and the thought didn't displease her. On the contrary, she found herself smiling at him, as if they had just shared some inside joke.

He opened a hand to indicate an empty seat, which she thankfully took. Snape himself remained standing as he retreated into a shadowy corner. She didn't bother asking if they might light more than just the one candle. Being able to see the outrageous colour scheme of Dumbledore's old bedroom wouldn't enhance the conversation any, and Hermione suspected that Snape felt easier in dimmer light. Perhaps it was all those years spent in the dungeons.

"I never told you what I did to my parents," she began. He kept thoroughly quiet as she spoke, not interrupting once but listening in perfect silence as she carried on and on about every little step she'd taken and how she had managed to convince herself at the time that it had been a good idea. After a point, she forgot he was even there, and spoke as if to herself in a stream-of-consciousness monologue as she reviewed events of past and recent past. She recounted the events of that morning, the conversation with Harry, and how he and Ron had reacted.

"I just don't know any more. I never stopped to think. Well, it seemed that thinking was all I was doing. Thinking too much, but not about the right things, not asking myself the right questions. What if my actions are wrong? What right do I have to play leader? I'm brave, foolish or arrogant in the extreme. Quite possibly all three. I mean, I'm only 18. What made me think _I_ should be making any of these decisions?"

"_Someone _has to," said Snape from the darkness, startling her slightly. "You may have noticed that people aren't exactly clamouring for the responsibility." The bitterness, the resentment, the long-repressed anger and frustration in his voice were all too plain to Hermione's ear now. The thing was, it was the exact same tone he always used: in his classes, at meals, in the corridors and everywhere else. It was simply a testament to the constancy with which these dark feelings pressed on him, smothering at all times.

No, nobody wanted the responsibility, but it had fallen on him. It had been delegated, _bequeathed_ to him, really, upon Dumbledore's death, as if the onus were some silent clause in the late Headmaster's will, with Snape forced to be solicitor, executor, and beneficiary all in one. The fact that he was doing it simply because he gave his word was nothing short of amazing, as usually the grave ended all vows, as they were no longer held accountable by anyone but themselves. Something told Hermione that he was less lenient on himself than the original man to whom he gave the promise would have been.

"But not alone," Hermione countered, bringing herself back to the conversation. "Yes, decisions need to be made, but not alone. One should consult others, shouldn't one?"

"If you have that luxury."

"I have _you,_" she pointed out, then grew tremendously embarrassed, not only of calling him a luxury but of the presumption of counting him as one. She suddenly doubted it. "Erm… don't I?"

He seemed to go through some intense and painful internal debate before finally making his reply. "I am at your disposal," he said. No, _recited_, Hermione realised, as if he'd trotted out those words through clenched teeth hundreds of times before.

She wanted to say that she wasn't another Dumbledore, she was not an obligation, another person he was bound to help. She didn't want to be another one of his innumerable burdens (though she knew she was, in reality). But she couldn't seem him taking that well, so she said something else instead.

"And I am at yours."

Perhaps now he might actually accept her offers of help, though she doubted it. Still, he had to know by now that at least she was a willing ally for him. That she would be there, should he have need. She wouldn't know until that happened, though. She couldn't see his expression, so withdrawn he was in the dark corner. She couldn't even tell if he nodded in acknowledgement.

"I mean it," she added, to stress the point if he still doubted.

"I know."

For a time, it was silent between them, a comfortable silence that Hermione relaxed in, as if it were some warm blanket that covered them both.

"There may come a time…" Snape began, hesitated, then stopped.

"Yes?" she invited.

"There may come a time when you will be held accountable for the decisions you make today… but… if you let that stop you from acting all together, you may find that inaction is more harmful than the wrong action."

"So you're saying do something, even if it's wrong?"

"I'm saying that you cannot know how your decisions will play out. You can only… hope."

This last word, uttered so guiltily yet with such reverence, nearly broke Hermione's heart. Or perhaps it did break, for she realised after a belated moment that she was crying. She hastily wiped away her tears, unsure if he'd seen them or not.

So the answer was… there was no answer. She would follow Snape's example and use her good intentions to do as much as she could bear, and maybe a little more. Whether it paved a road to hell or somewhere else was out of her control, but she could hope. She might not get it right every time, but she could try. Even Dumbledore, she had to remind herself, hadn't gotten it all right. Even he had made mistakes. Snape made mistakes. She made mistakes. Harry made mistakes. In fact, she didn't know anyone who didn't.

Hagrid had said it well. What would happen would happen, and they would just have to meet it when it did.

"Hope," she repeated, looking into the darkness where she knew Severus Snape was hiding.

.

When Hermione returned to the tent, she spoke to Harry frankly and openly, admitted that she may have been wrong, but she could only do her best, which was all she'd ever done. After Ron gave him a jab in the ribs with an elbow, Harry apologised as well, and thanked her for her efforts on his behalf.

"Just no more secrets, all right?" he said.

Hermione smiled widely to hide her initial pained grimace. "No more secrets."

"I was thinking, Hermione…"

"Oh?"

"What if we let Dobby come here, to the tent? That would be all right, wouldn't it? He'd never tell anyone if we asked him not to."

Hermione frowned in thought. "I suppose that would be all right." In truth, there was probably no one upon whom they could more confidently depend than the devoted house-elf. "Are you thinking of using him as a messenger between you and Ginny?" she asked.

"It _had _occurred to me, yeah. I mean, it would be nice to be able to get some outside news. Better than nice. Wise, I think. We're cut off, how are we to know if something important happens?"

Hermione would have had to agree, except that she already _had_ an outside contact. Or was that an _inside_ contact? Snape was a Death Eater, after all, and Headmaster of Hogwarts. A rather well-informed individual in most aspects, except for when it came to the Order. Still, she couldn't begrudge Harry a few notes with Ginny.

"You can't even _hint_ at where we are or what we are doing, though."

"I know."

"If someone finds out you've been writing to her, she'd be in—"

"We'll be careful."

"Wouldn't it be safer to just give her a coin?" she proposed.

Harry's nose wrinkled in displeasure, and she knew why from personal experience. There wasn't a lot of room on those coins, only enough for short little messages. "I trust Dobby and Ginny with this. If I thought it was too dangerous, I wouldn't do it. You know I wouldn't. But I think it's important that we have at least some means of getting news from the castle. From the Order."

Slowly, Hermione nodded her agreement. It might turn out to be more advantageous than dangerous. If Ginny was willing to put herself in risk for Harry, that was her prerogative and no more than what she or Ron were doing.

.

Harry's mood improved as soon as the correspondence began. For a week, at least. Then things came to a crashing halt, and Hermione regretted Dobby's letter-carrying.

.

SS

.

It was a dark day, indeed, for Severus Snape. Something he'd been trying to prevent since the beginning of his tenure as Headmaster had finally come to pass.

He'd lost a student to the Carrows.

Two, actually.

His principle duty, failed. He was useless, unable to fulfil the one good responsibility left to him.

Severus sat at his desk, rubbing his face with one hand, gripping the side of the wooden desk with the other. Guilt, yes, guilt, flooded over him, along with regret, and bitter resentment that this task was even his to begin with. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Granger about doing the best one could, but it was pitiful consolation at a time like this.

Thinking about Granger only made him feel worse about losing Lovegood. Were Granger, Potter, and Weasley in contact with others? Could they have learned of it? If they did, he wouldn't put it past Potter to go to Malfoy Manor after the Lovegood girl and Nagini at once, even if unprepared.

No, surely Granger wouldn't let that happen. Not when the stakes were this high.

Severus cursed under his breath. Yes, of course she would. _"… when Harry and Ron have made up their mind about something__,__ the best thing you can do is go with them and try to keep them from getting hurt." _ Her exact words. If the dunderheaded duo went, she would follow. She always had.

"Probably why they are still alive," Severus grumbled aloud.

An eavesdropping portrait overheard this remark and began muttering about how wicked Severus was. "Don't know who you're trying to kill this time, but I hope you fail. Hope you die and rot instead."

_That makes two of us,_ he thought bleakly, his thoughts returning to the young Ravenclaw girl who would probably never see outside the cellars of Malfoy Manor again. Unlike Absalom Amberly, Severus didn't think Lovegood was dead. Not yet. Not until they'd gotten what they'd wanted out of old Xenophilius. But it was only a matter of time, of that Severus was certain. Amberly, he'd been told, simply hadn't been able to hold up to the punishment being doled out to him in his detention and had died by accident there in the dungeons.

His stomach churned painfully. He was useless. A fool. A disappointment to anyone who mattered. He reviled himself, and disgusted himself even more for contemplating hanging a curtain over Dumbledore's portrait so he wouldn't have to feel the old man's eyes on him. His gaze seemed to weigh on his shoulders, back, neck, hunching him over and pushing him to the ground under its invisible but oppressive weight.

Severus was tempted to pull out his coin to ask if she knew. Some morbid part of him was desperate to know if she were as appalled with him as he was with himself, to know if she still claimed to be willing to help him. But he didn't ask. If she knew, then _she_ would ask _him_ about it. To enquire now would merely inform her if she didn't already know, and he had no intentions of doing that.

But she didn't ask him.

She didn't write to him at all. Not that morning or evening as she usually did. He thought perhaps she may have, through some mischance, lost her coin, and so when a squashed-faced ginger-haired feline brought him a rat that night, Severus was suddenly filled with the eagerness and anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. Ignoring the painful pops of protest from his joints, he instantly dropped to his knees to take it from the feline, pointing his wand to transfigure it back into whatever message it was, only to find that it was nothing more than what it appeared to be. The furry little beast had just brought him a rodent for his larder, it seemed. If Severus was disappointed, he didn't let it show, not even to the cat. He simply took the deceased rat, saying sarcastically "It's the nicest gift anyone's ever given to me," all too aware of the fact that it was true.

He might be able to overlook her failing to write once, even twice in a row, but not for an entire day. A day which lengthened to two… and then three.

When news reached him that Granger was Bellatrix's latest plaything at Malfoy Manor, Severus sank into his chair, buried his head in his hands, and didn't get up for hours.


	20. Hungry Beggar

_**Chapter 20:**_ _**Hungry Beggar**_

She was dead already. Or if not dead, her wits were surely gone by the way of the Longbottoms', which was an even greater tragedy. By the time word had finally come to him, Granger would have been hours, if not days, at Malfoy Manor. No one lasted long with Bellatrix… Severus knew that any attempt to go to Lucius' home would be futile. It was already too late.

What was the point of anything anymore? He realised, only now and far too late, that Granger was far more important than himself at this stage. Yes, he could try to protect Hogwarts, but only the witch could successfully get Potter's blood and convince him to drink the potion. Failing that, it was the girl who was most likely to keep Potter alive until the final confrontation. Severus himself was all used up. He'd kept his cover so closely clasped to him because Dumbledore had ordered him to, had said that no one must know. But the point of all the secrecy was so that he could continue to help. Help whom? How? What good could was he to anyone?

_Except the students,_ he reminded himself. There were other students in the world apart from Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. _Like Absalom Amberly_, Severus noted grimly. _What good was I to him? Or to Lovegood?_

Without Granger, Potter would die. The only reason Severus knew the boy yet lived was Severus would have been summoned had he been killed, and Severus had received no such invitation… yet. It was only a matter of time. Even if, against all odds, Potter could take the Dark Lord down, there would be no way of doing it without losing his own life in the effort. Potter was lost; he'd failed Lily… again.

'_Why am I still here?_' Severus lamented. Why were people like Lily, Dumbledore, and Granger gone, and yet _he_ remained? How was that fair? Why not him instead? Or, failing that, at least him as well. Why was he forced to remain in this disastrous, unbearable travesty he'd made of his life?

Severus stared numbly at that deadly shelf of fatal phials all lined up in a row, singing to him like sirens. The only thing that kept Severus away from his poison cabinet at this stage was the paralysing fear that if he gave up before his heavy task was complete, he might become a ghost, and then he'd _never_ be able to escape the accursed place. He'd be stuck at Hogwarts for eternity. A fate more grisly, Severus couldn't imagine. No, he couldn't afford any unfinished business. He had to keep going, if only to avoid that fate. So it was his longing for death, in the end, that kept him from killing himself. A cruel irony.

Severus cursed himself. If he'd only managed to do his job, then Lovegood wouldn't have been taken, and if Lovegood hadn't been taken, Potter wouldn't have gone to get her, and if Potter hadn't gone after her, Granger would still be…

But it was too late for that. Spinning 'could-have-beens' was as pointless as he was.

Severus buried his hands deeply in his hair, gripping tightly, digging his nails into his scalp, but even this small exertion grew too tiring. He was empty, sapped, so completely drained that the weariness reached all the way into his bones and settled there. Or perhaps that's where it emanated from. Severus didn't know. The only thing of which he was certain) was that he was not getting up any time soon.

There was a knock at his office door.

_Leave me alone._

Despite not having been bid to enter, the door opened.

_Go away. Go away…_

Lifting his head, he saw no one was there. Wand drawn, he pointed it at the gaping doorway, flicking his wrist so that it slammed shut. Severus was still on the alert, but was completely unprepared for it all the same.

It happened without any warning or preamble. A shimmer, a fluttering of silvery silken fabric, and there she was. Granger stood there, straining to breathe, face bruised, a gash on her cheek and a trail of dried blood that led to her chin, but she was there.

He jumped from his seat in shock, in disbelief, in wondrous surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked, he sounded angry, and he supposed he might have been. Hogwarts was a dangerous place to be just at present. But surely his office was better than the cellars of Malfoy Manor. He very nearly took hold of her shoulders to shake her, to see that she really was there, but he managed to restrain himself. But only just. Not only did she look as if one good shake would cause her head to tumble off her shoulders, he also didn't know if he could the handle the disappointment of knowing she was a hallucination. It was better off not to test at all.

She took a few steps toward him, and he noticed she had a severe limp as well as a noticeable tremble. Typical of extended use of the Cruciatus. "I lost my sickle, so I had no way of contacting you," she began. As she looked around the office awkwardly, her breathing evened before she startled burbling in typical Granger fashion. "I, er… heard about Amberly and knew something must have happened. Are you all right? I would have been here sooner, but… I had to fly."

It was too much. He couldn't bear to look at her, dishevelled, dirty, and clearly in pain. That she'd come all this way (flying, no less!) to ask after _him_ was… inconceivable.

Severus had assumed the worst when he'd heard that Lucius had her. He had never expected to see Granger again, let alone in his office wanting to look after him. What was more, she didn't blame him for Amberly's death, she had only been concerned that _he_ hadn't taken it well. And all this time he'd thought it would have been _she_. How on earth she had survived, he couldn't fathom. If he had known she was alive, he would have done something to help. But he'd done nothing for her.

"I didn't know," he confessed, his own voice sounding scraped thin and foreign to him. "I would have stopped it if I could have. Believe me, I didn't know." Severus was unsure if he were talking about Amberly or herself. He needed forgiveness. Absolution. At least once in his life, and here was a living soul that might actually give it to him.

"I know you would. I know," she soothed, but he barely heard her. Too many deaths. Too many close calls. Her presence seemed to break him. He couldn't keep it together any longer. He collapsed back into his chair.

"I can't do this anymore," he admitted with a shuddering breath. His throat constricted tightly, and he had to force out the next words, resulting in a higher octave. "_I can't_."

"_Severus_," she whispered as if it pained her. Tears in her eyes, she took one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed it. "Don't do this to yourself. We have to be strong. We can do this."

More than the use of his given name, more than the squeeze of her hands, more than the glistening tears, Severus was overcome by her simple use of the word 'we.' He wasn't alone.

He wasn't alone.

He gripped her hand tightly and pressed it against his forehead, shutting his eyes against everything else, still trying to control his shaking breaths and quivering shoulders.

It was the singularly most obvious show of weakness and dependence he'd displayed in his whole adult life. But it didn't matter because this was Granger, and she wouldn't use it against him. The only one who wouldn't.

Albus had left him. Minerva had turned from him. The Order had shunned him. It was all part of the plan. But Dumbledore hadn't meant for _this_ to happen; he hadn't meant for Granger to know. And currently, that discrepancy was the only thing keeping him going, and had been so for a long time. Albus had overestimated his coldness. Had placed too much store in Severus' aloofness; assumed too much to think Severus could continue being reviled by all.

"_You're such a good man, Severus Snape. Such a good man,"_ Granger whispered soothingly. Her words were at the same time both nonsense and a balm.

.

Severus awoke with a start and a surge of overwhelming panic. Half of it disintegrated when he realised he was in his office and not some unknown hostile location; the other half remained, curious as to why he had passed out at his desk. He rarely slept, and never here. Had he been hexed? He felt for injuries, but didn't find any.

Slowly, bits of the dream trickled back to him. Granger had featured prominently. Granger who was now naught but a corpse in Lucius' cellar, probably put to use by taunting Potter.

The dream began to fade as the details, one by one, slipped away until all that he was left with was the phantom feeling that he wasn't alone, in stark contrast with the cold reality that he was, in fact, _very_ _much_ alone.

'Wishful dreaming,' he thought to himself, as if anyone could consider him a 'good man.' He pulled himself away from the desk, still wondering why he had fallen asleep in his office.

It was then he noticed the bit of parchment with lines of handwriting he'd recognise anywhere. He'd marked six years of 'longer than required' essays of it.

_Impossible_. And yet there it was.

'_You looked tired, so I let you sleep. I've made new coins for us. Use it if you wish. I'll be around.'_

He incinerated the letter immediately for security's sake and hastily snatched up the coin with the speed and desperation of a hungry beggar trying to beat another greedy vagrant to the swipe.

He paused, wand drawn and pointing at the silver circle. What would he say? '_Are you really alive?' 'Did I just imagine you?' _No, the fact that the coin was there was proof enough. What he really wanted was an account of what had happened at Malfoy Manor, information about Potter and Lovegood and… and… just to look at her standing on her own two feet in front of him. Alive.

HG

Hermione had been almost as unnerved by him falling asleep as she had been by his complete breakdown. She really shouldn't have been surprised. Any normal person would have cracked up long before.

When she'd first seen him, he'd seemed a lost child, overwrought and on the brink. He'd fallen asleep as quickly as that same lost child would have when he'd finally reached home, or a man on the run for days finally reaching his refuge. A collapse in relief. That had been too strong even for Hermione to deny or explain away. He _had_ been relieved to see her. That had been unmistakable.

She had the urge to brush the fringe from his forehead, maybe even kiss his brow, but she didn't. Though the portraits pretended to be asleep, she couldn't trust them, particularly Dumbledore's. Could one _Obliviate_ a painting? Couldn't hurt to try, anyway.

She did it silently once she'd put back on the Cloak, pointing her wand unobtrusively to each portrait in turn so that they wouldn't catch on to what she was doing and flee their frames.

Hermione knew it had worked because afterwards, some of them who had obviously been feigning sleep had forgotten that's what they had been doing, and they looked around, curious and confused.

She left Dumbledore's portrait unmodified. Let him see how terrible he had been to his most faithful Potions master, teacher, spy. Let him know that Snape was just as human as anyone else and needed kindness. Let him see how cruelly he'd denied him that kindness. She hoped Dumbledore would feel guilty. But of course, Dumbledore was very dead, and that painting just an echo.

General whispered babble broke out, most of them remarking on how odd it was to see Snape sleeping at his desk.

"Thought he never slept," said one.

"No rest for the wicked," said another.

Dumbledore was silent, but awake. His painted blue eyes focused where she stood, invisible.

As she quietly left the office, she thought back with regret that if she had known the Obliviate was going to work, she might have kissed him after all.

.

.

.

Hermione was in Madam Pomfrey's personal quarters, quite well-hidden and out of the way. She'd been in desperate need of healing, and the Hogwarts healer had taken to the task with reassuring speed and, more importantly, _secrecy._ No one would ever know that Hermione was there, and Madam Pomfrey was protecting her most carefully.

Hogwarts hadn't been her first stop after Malfoy Manor. Before anything else, they had all of them first returned to Order Headquarters. _With_ Luna.

No one had been at Grimmauld Place when they arrived, but it was certain the house wouldn't be empty for long, not once they let the Order know of their whereabouts. Headquarters had been abandoned in light of Dumbledore's death, but it was the only place any of them could think to go. Hermione said she thought it would be alright, as Snape wouldn't leave Hogwarts and he was the only Death Eater that could actually _enter_ Grimmauld Place.

It was worrying how much weight her word seemed to have with the boys. Unless, of course, it was telling them _not_ to do something foolish. To everyone who didn't know Snape's true loyalty, entering the house _would_ have been a bad move, but no one seemed to be in a fit state to think absolutely clearly.

Exhausted and unwilling to contemplate any idea that involved anything other than collapsing into bed, they made the unanimous decision to rest before proceeding in any way. They had been too shattered to Floo Molly Weasley, or anyone else, and have to deal with tiring explanations.

Ron, Harry and Luna all looked rather ragged, Hermione had thought, and if they were anything to go by, she must have looked a bit of a disaster, too. She'd hurt _everywhere. That _much she'd known. She also knew that she needed healing, perhaps even serious treatment.

There hadn't been time to assess all their injuries when they finally managed to find each other at Malfoy Manor, only seconds to simply regroup and get out. Harry and Ron had asked if she was alright and she had said yes, though rather shakily and unconvincingly, but she could talk and hobble, which was all that mattered at the time in order to escape. Now, with the others passed out and herself swaying dangerously on her feet, she scribbled a note, leaving it on Ron's bedside table (as she was sure he would be the last to wake up, therefore giving her as much of a head start as possible.)

_ Gone to check on you-know-what. I have my coin on my and I've taken the Map. _

_ ~H_

Actually, she hadn't even really thought about the potion since she'd arrived. It was only as she drifted in and out of potion-induced stupor that it vaguely floated across her mind. She was abruptly brought to full consciousness by the familiar welcome burn of the coin.

_**Come.**_

Hermione's natural instinct was to immediately comply with the request, but sitting up turned out to be more of a challenge than she'd initially supposed. Madam Pomfrey had given her some pretty powerful potions to heal her internal injuries.

Feeling immediately woozy, vision tunnelling, Hermione decided to lie back down for a while.

After a minute, when she could focus on the coin without it dividing into double-vision, she sent a response.

_Can't. In HW. _

The time he took to reply seemed to Hermione as pensive, as if he were carefully considering a response.

**When you can, then.**

This reply, rather than reassure her, only served to make Hermione feel an even greater sense of urgency. Madam Pomfrey wasn't around, and she didn't dare call out for her. All the same, Hermione was determined to leave.

Hermione wished she hadn't left the broom in the Forbidden Forest. She couldn't summon it either, at least not without drawing attention to herself. It was a long and tiring journey, therefore, all the way up to the Headmaster's office, cursing her trembling limbs. Her eyes as well, they ached so, as if someone had tried to summon them out of their sockets but couldn't be detached. The back of each orb throbbed as if taxed to the limit and she wished she could simply keep them closed.

She got the opportunity when was forced to sit and rest, making half a dozen stops on the way, sitting quietly in the corridors under the Cloak, holding her breath if on the off chance someone should pass by. Getting up was such a challenge that she wondered if taking a break was even worth it, for forcing herself to her feet seemed to sap all the energy her rest stops generated.

She finally made it to the top of the steps of the spiral staircase, but didn't enter until she had enough energy to do what she needed. Hermione had thought about the portrait problem while she'd been lying in her sickbed, and had found a tentative solution.

When she entered the room, hidden beneath the Cloak, she immediate pointed her wand at the portrait nearest her and blindfolded it, much to its occupant's outrage. The rest quickly followed. Snape emerged from the bedroom at the uproar (the figures in their frames were quite vocal in their displeasure.) Hermione removed the Invisibility Cloak, revealing her presence. She was feeling a bit light headed, and did her best not to sway on the spot.

Snape looked from her to the portraits, then back to her again. She'd left Dumbledore's portrait untouched yet again, meeting its gaze almost defiantly before turning back to her erstwhile Potions professor. He looked, perhaps for the first time ever, slightly nervous and unsure of himself. It was only a moment's hesitation, the slightest twitch, the mere shifting of a glance to see how the portrait would react, that let on that he was not as confident as he had always seemed to be.

Soon enough, however, he ignored all the portraits and opened his hand, silently bidding her to sit and eat, for it was only then that she noticed that tea and food were there, waiting for her, it seemed. Just as Snape himself had been...

It was unnerving, him watching her as she ate, his fingers steepled against themselves and those intensely dark eyes not leaving her. When she couldn't handle it anymore, she put the food down and met his gaze levelly. "I suppose you want to hear about Harry," she guessed. "He's fine. We all made it out alive. Luna too, if a little worse for wear." Not any worse than Hermione had been, surely. "You must know most of what happened…"

"I don't," he corrected. His voice sounded gravelly, and Hermione realised that was the first he'd spoken since she arrived. He'd done nothing but stare at her expectantly until then. She then remembered what he had said when she first arrived. _'I didn't know. I would have stopped it if I could have. Believe me,' _he'd pleaded. _ 'I didn't know.'_

She didn't really want to recount those horrific hours she'd spent at Malfoy Manor.

Hermione couldn't look at him, so instead she looked at the floor, the items on the desk, the walls, anything but him. Mostly, however, she stared at her hands wringing in her lap. it was too dreadful. She was afraid that if they made eye contact he'd see how weak she'd been. How much she'd screamed, how she'd wet herself, how Bellatrix had laughed at her for it.

"We'd heard that Luna had been taken and—"

"How?" Snape interrupted, though rather more gently than usual, as if simply guiding her narrative in the direction he wanted, rather than demanding information.

For a moment, Hermione considered lying, but after a moment of contemplating what fibs she might feed him, she found that she simply couldn't. She couldn't lie to this man who was hanging on her every word, this man who had risked so much to help her in her endeavours, a man who had come to mean so much to her.

"Dobby. Malfoy's former elf. Harry set him free in our second year, and Dobby would do anything for him. He's been bringing messages back and forth. He was the one who helped us get into the Manor in the first place, though he tried to talk Harry out of it. He had to actually order Dobby to show us how to get in. We split up to find Luna…" Here, Hermione struggled with how to continue. Since she didn't actually know which of the boys had found her, or indeed anything that had happened to them until they rescued her and fled together. She extemporised, trying to be as informative, and yet at the same time, as vague as possible. "We… no, _I_ lost the sword," she stated. "Harry didn't kill Nagini, but they did get Luna. Oh." She paused, remembering something Ron had said hastily. It hadn't really registered at the time; she'd been so tired and panicked. "Ollivander's dead."

Hermione heard nothing but a deep exhalation. Since he wasn't speaking, she assumed he was waiting for her to continue.

"That's it, really. We got Luna, had to fight our way out, but we all made it out alive. And that's it really." Hermione cursed herself for being repetitive and ineloquent, but truth be told (or not told, in this case), she was still too shaken up by the whole thing to be perfectly articulate.

When she looked up and finally met his eyes, Hermione could tell he knew, he understood everything she hadn't said. She gave him a grateful nod for not bringing it up aloud, and he nodded back, acknowledging her wish to leave certain things alone. Unsaid, though not (in their own way) unacknowledged. He recognised her pain, her humiliation, her suffering, everything she'd gone through. He knew without her having to say anything.

She hadn't really had time to think about it until now. Before they'd been focussed on leaving, and then she'd been too focussed on coming to Hogwarts, and then she'd been too focussed on _him_. It was only now that she was actually forced to reflect on all that had happened to her.

Her breathing suddenly became shaky, her throat constricted and her eyes pricked painfully with unshed tears. Again, her eyes dropped to her lap.

She'd been so afraid. Afraid that in some other part of the Manor, Harry and Ron were dead, or worse, in as much pain as she was. She'd never been so scared in her entire life, nor had she ever been in such excruciating pain. Hermione remembered hoping that she'd die before she gave away any of their secrets. How she had wanted to die, and how she had hoped that Harry and Ron lived.

At the thought that her two best friends were now safe, Hermione was unable to stop the tears from falling. It only just then seemed to sink in. They were alright. Snape was alright. There was still hope.

A handkerchief found its way to her lap, having floated gently to land delicately on her knees. Gratefully she took it, hiding her face in the cloth while she wept silently as she could. Not that he didn't know that was what she was doing. There really was no point in hiding it from him, or anything else for that matter.

When she'd composed herself… no… not composed, for she made no effort to pull herself together. When she'd cried herself out and returned to normal, she wiped her face and took a deep breath. She didn't apologise for the breakdown. She didn't need to. They were both entitled.

"The others are safely resting at Headquarters," she finished.

"What potions has Madam Pomfrey given you?" he asked professionally.

Slightly surprised by this, Hermione stuttered out the list of remedies the healing matron had veritably poured down her throat. This was an easier confession. Rather than admit to all the injuries she sustained, she simply had to trot out a list of brews that had healed them.

He seemed to consider this and said, "She didn't give you a Salubrity Solution?"

"She might have been intending to, I don't know." Hermione was unable to stop herself from yawning broadly. She hadn't really slept in the Hospital Wing. Indeed, his message had only come an hour after she'd left his office. She knew that some of the potions were still working their magic. As a Potions master, he would be aware of this as well. A fact proved when he told her she should probably rest more.

Hermione was about to agree when a great whoosh of magic picked her up and zinged her across the room to land with a not so soft _thwump_ onto the bed. At first, Hermione thought bizarrely that this was perhaps the man's way of making her rest, but when she heard the door lock with a resounding click, she knew otherwise.

"Snape!"

"That's _Headmaster_ to you, Amycus," he replied drily.

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it, listening intently to the muffled voices through the door. Snape must have got her out of the way just in time. _She_ certainly hadn't heard the Death Eater approach. Good thing Snape had. Trying to push the panic back down her throat, Hermione tried to tell herself that Carrow would have no reason to barge into the Headmaster's bedroom, she really needn't be worried. Even if he _did _wish to, Snape would find a way of preventing him. She was safe, she repeated to herself. No one would think to look for her in Severus Snape's bedroom. Even so, she'd had felt better if the Cloak had been banished to the bedroom with her, which Snape might have attempted to do, but that sort of magic didn't affect the Invisibility Cloak. She doubted he knew that.

After a time, the muffled voices faded. Had they left the office? Hermione was almost certain they had, but didn't dare chance it. Instead, she chose to wait until Snape came back and gave her the all clear.

Hermione hadn't even realised she'd fallen asleep until she felt a coin burn. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, and it was a moment before her vision cleared enough to read it. It was from Harry and Ron.

_**Where R U?**_

_Hogwarts._

_**And?**_

_ Went to HW. _

_**And?**_

_Resting now. Potion soon. U?_

_** All fine. Mum's mad. Take care.**_

Despite her bone-deep exhaustion, her physical and emotional fatigue, Hermione snorted with amusement at the fact that Ron felt the need to mention Molly's anger. She could only be glad she wasn't there for the bawling out. Actually, she was rather surprised Snape hadn't taken her to task for their incredibly foolish endeavour. Instead, he'd been…

Hermione shivered, remembering the expression on his face when she'd entered his office. Like he'd seen a ghost.

_ Perhaps he thought he had_.

She shook her head. She had things to do now that she'd seen Snape. Hermione had wanted to make sure he was alright, though it didn't seem that he was. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could actually do for him. Still, she needed to check on the potion and get back to the boys.

Hermione was straightening the bed when Snape entered, looking surprised that she was still there.

"Is it clear to go?" she asked quietly.

Snape nodded once, stepping aside to let her pass. Instead of her going out, her familiar, in the form of a ginger blur, dashed in.

"Crooks!" she cried in delight, snatching the half-kneazle up and squeezing him to her chest. "Oh, I've been worried about you," she told him. She then looked up and met the current Headmaster's eyes and repeated in a meaningful whisper, "So very worried." Still holding his gaze, she kissed her familiar solemnly on top of his furry head, clutching the animal to her chest to give it comfort as she would never be able to give the man standing before her, no matter how much she believed he really needed it, or how much she wanted to. Instead, she continued stroking Crookshanks' long fur until she had to put him down again.

"I need to get back."

He responded by holding out a phial for her to take, a Salubrity Solution, she suspected. "There is nothing to fully cure the after-effects of the…" He paused for a moment, but decided to carry on anyway. "Cruciatus."

Having been subjected to the torture curse before, she was all too aware of its after-effects. "I know," she said regretfully, though it came out more as a croak. She wished she hadn't said anything at all. She sounded so weak. Then again, she reflected, surely they had moved beyond all of that by now, having seen one another at both their physical and emotional worst.

He nodded sternly. He'd already witnessed one weeping fit that day, it was obvious he wasn't going to tolerate another. In fact, since she announced her intent to depart, she'd veritably felt the coldness he exuded, as if distancing her emotionally before the physical eventuality.

"Drink it," he ordered brusquely.

"Thank you, sir, I will," she said, taking the phial. "Will you be alright?"

She half-wished he could answer 'yes,' half-hoped he'd admit 'no,' but knew beyond a doubt he wouldn't say either way.

"Go," he ordered.

"Are you sure?"

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. "_Go! You foolish girl, go._"

Obediently, Hermione left.

Hermione found the potion in order and the broom precisely where she'd left it in the Forbidden Forest. It was nearing daylight, and she thought of a more practical way to get back to London. Rather than the frightening, fatiguing and time-consuming flight back on a broomstick, she would simply fly to Hogsmeade, and use Fred and George's fireplace to Floo back to Grimmauld place from there.

The twins' sense of industry had grown, resulting in an expansion of their business to include a premise in the village near Hogwarts as well as their shop in Diagon Alley. It was one of the few shops that still remained opened. Hermione didn't know how they managed both shops at once. Perhaps Fred took one shop and George the other, though she really couldn't imagine them separated. In any case, Hermione was counting on the mischievous pair of Weasleys to get her home. She could have used the fireplace in the Headmaster's office, but she hadn't thought of it at the time. At least this way she wouldn't have to lie about how she got back.

Carefully concealed under the Cloak, she flew low to the ground, her feet only an inch or two above the tips of the dead grass. She cursed silently when she found the shop closed.

_Of course,_ she chided herself. It was only four in the morning. It wouldn't be open for another five hours. She swore again and decided she wouldn't wait, sitting on the ground in a side alley, until the shop opened. Nor would she return to the castle. The later it got, the more dangerous it would be to stay there, even hidden away in Snape's room. She would simply have to break in. She knew, of course, that any failed attempt would probably result in rapidly growing blue nose-hair or perhaps flaming trousers, but was also well-acquainted with Fred and George's style. Most times, they had special access words and wards.

The door, she discovered with regret but no surprise, was impregnable. Her next attempt was at the window. She applied herself for a full quarter of an hour, luckily (and sometimes narrowly) avoiding protective jinxes, but finally won through. Pushing it open, she hauled her tired limbs through the opening, eventually losing balance and falling unceremoniously unto the wooden shop floor.

At least, she thought, it was the shop floor. Upon looking around, she found the entire room completely empty, a thick layer of dust coated everything and many spiders had made and abandoned homes in the rafters. It looked as if it hadn't been occupied for years and yet she herself had been there only a few months ago.

Not a trace existed that a joke had ever been there, and she began to doubt her sanity. Had she broken into the wrong building? But no, she knew she hadn't. She'd _seen_ row upon row of familiar merchandise lined up on the shelves on display when she'd been working at the window. Perhaps this was some extremely complex magical security measure? That everything disappears if someone broke in? She wouldn't put it past the twins.

After several minutes of waiting in nervous anticipation, she determined that she wasn't going to be suddenly flung out of the window by some anti-burglary jinx. It would be just like them to use a defenestration charm to discourage burglars. A thorough search of the place showed that it truly was empty, and not merely magicked to look so.

Still, even though it was empty, it was the best place she could stay until day. She had decided that she would at least wait until nine afterall to see if everything would magically reappear when the shop opened. If it didn't, she would have to assume that Fred and George had abandoned the shop, and she'd have to find another way of getting home. So she curled up on the dusty floor, transfigured her robes into a pile of blankets, and did her best to sleep.

When morning had well arrived she waited for Fred or George to arrive, but they never did. It was still early yet, though. While waiting, she saw Lee Jordan pass right by the window looking secretive, only to reappear in the front display window once he'd rounded the corner and knocked on the door. Too her utter surprise, the door opened for him and he disappeared, but _not_ into the shop. He simply vanished.

She'd seen him open the door from the storefront window, and yet the door next to her had remained implacably shut.

What magic was this?

Curious, she tried to open the door from the inside. It wouldn't budge. Carefully, making sure she was still thoroughly hidden by the Cloak, she clambered back out the window and tried knocking on the front door, just as Lee had done. Eleven knocks in a rhythm to which Hermione easily put the words, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

She could only gape in disbelief when the door opened, and the surprised but relieved face of George Weasley appeared. They merely blinked at each other for a few brief moments before he grabbed her arm and pulled her in. All those years in possession of the Cloak had given them some talent at spotting it, somehow. Once the door was shut behind her, he pulled off the Cloak with a flourish. She looked around in wonder. The shop was full and alive with jokes, pranks, and other various flying, twirling and whirring magical objects.

"Hermione!" he said, pulling her into a hug. "Oi, Fred! It's Hermione!"

Fred stomped in from the back room, beaming broadly. "Mione! We've just come back from Grimmauld place. I've never seen Mum so furious! You've set a new record," he declared, almost enviously, Hermione thought.

Hermione was still shaking her head in confusion. "How… what is this place? It was empty, completely empty when I came in through the window in the night. Nothing!"

Fred and George grinned conspiratorially at one another. "Might have guessed you would be the first to notice. Where'd you come from?"

"What do you mean? I came from the castle to Hogsmeade, of course. And nothing was here until I came through the front door."

"Simply put, the shop isn't in Hogsmeade," said Fred.

"Or Diagon Alley," added George. "It's actually in an inexpensive and unobtrusive premise in Yorkshire. Crummy little place, really."

"But it'd have to be with what we pay for rent in the other locations."

"Bur how does it work?" Hermione asked.

"The transportation spell isn't really much more complex than that of a portkey. The doors in Diagon and Hogsmead simply transport those who go through them into the shop in Yorkshire."

"It's safer that way."

"And saves us the trouble of having to find staff for an extra shop."

Hermione blinked in amazement. "How have I never considered that before?"

"You're not meant to!" chirped George.

"You… you're geniuses."

"Coming from you, that's quite a compliment. Did you hear that, Fred, we're been declared geniuses by a genius."

Fred bowed his head bashfully and pretended to blush.

"Want to try our new selection of sweets?" George asked.

"Um… no. I actually just wanted to use your Floo. I promised the boys that I'd come back once I was…" Hermione couldn't say 'finished with the potion,' and didn't want to say 'healed,' so she let the statement trail off, unfinished.

The twins understood, though. "We've got loads of healing potions in the back, if you need anything else," offered Fred.

"With all the experimenting we do, we're in constant need of them," added George with a smile.

"Thanks, but Madam Pomfrey sorted me out well enough. I just need some more rest."

"Good luck getting that with mum bawling in your ear."

Hermione grimaced, thinking of it. Still, she had gone to Malfoy Manor and faced a horde of Death Eaters to rescue a friend. It would be pretty pathetic indeed to lose her nerve at the prospect of facing Molly Weasley…

Before throwing the powder into the fire, she took a last look around the shop, astounded, and, if she wanted to be honest, a little jealous.

SS

Severus actually had breakfast that morning, but only after he'd received a message on the sickle saying that she'd made it back safely and that he should eat something. He didn't eat because she told him to. The missive just seemed to shock him into an appetite.

Now as he sat at his desk, Severus reluctantly pet the orange feline, simply because the bossy creature refused to have it any other way. Upon recalling the tender way Granger had stroked the animal, saying how much she'd been worried, his fingers grew more gentle, and the beast's purr grew louder.

It had been harder than he expected to make her leave that morning. Bellowing at her seemed to be the only way he could make it sound remotely convincing. If he'd used a normal speaking voice to say he wanted her out of his office, he was certain that even the Gryffindor would have seen through the lie.


	21. Penultimate Steps

_**Author's Note:**__ I've moved again, as is evident by the little flag in my profile. Real life has a knack for getting in the way of fanfiction, but creativity has a knack for breaking through the mundane._

_._

_The gods damn the type two error that prevented me from posting. I curse it and shake my fist! "Curse you type two error!"_

**.**

**Chapter 21:**_** Penultimate Steps**_

.

Mrs. Weasley was rather taken aback by Hermione's supreme indifference to her lecture. The truth of the matter was, since before the mayhem at Malfoy Manor, Hermione had had almost no sleep at all. She'd had a lie-down in Madam Pomfrey's room for about half an hour, and another in Snape's rooms for even less (she didn't even count the hours she spent shivering on the hard stone floor of the Weasley's phantom shop) so she hadn't really had any rest since they'd got the news Luna had been taken, three days before. In fact, those brief almost naps made her _more_ exhausted.

And a lot had happened in those three days.

Hermione was indescribably fatigued, still aching from hours of torture, despite Madame Pomfrey's care, and emotionally drained in every way it was possible to be.

She put up a trembling hand to stop Molly's speech, which surprisingly worked. She opened her mouth to speak, even as her eyes closed from fatigue. Taking in the sight of everything around her was too much a strain. She swayed on her feet as the words she had been about to say abandoned her, as did her ability to stand upright, apparently. Her eyes flew open as her legs wobbled, tried to lock, and eventually gave way all together as the floor rushed up to greet her.

She was prevented from that painful acquaintance by the quick action of Ron's father. _Nice catch,_ she thought, still unable to get any words out.

"Steady there," he said soothingly. Vision blurring nauseatingly, Hermione let her eyes flutter closed yet again. Her body, rather than going limp, seized up in a fresh agonizing assault.

"Molly, quick!" said Arthur. "She's convulsing!"

The spasms lasted only half a minute, if that, before she slumped boneless into Mr. Weasley's arms. She was relieved to find that they were already on the floor, so there wasn't far to fall, but was mildly sorry that Mr. Weasley's suit now seemed to be spattered with vomit.

"I just need to take the rest of my potions," she said quietly to him. "And sleep." Merlin, but did she need to sleep. She wouldn't even mind making that patch of floor her bed, and Mr. Weasley her sick-scented pillow. The glass phial in her pocket pressed into her thigh, and she thought of Snape's advice. It wouldn't cure the side-effects of the Cruciatus, but it would help. And the Salubrity Solution should aid the internal healing, which was a process that would continue for the next 12 hours, according to Madam Pomfrey.

They wouldn't even let her walk after that, and so levitated her upstairs. She didn't bother telling them that she'd climbed innumerable stairs on the trek from the Hospital Wing to the Headmaster's office with no such assistance. There was no point in making things harder for herself than they needed to be.

They tried to take her to the room she always stayed in with Ginny, but she refused to enter it, insisting that she be taken to the boys. Hermione was surprised to see how easily the Weasleys capitulated. Ron and Harry were asleep, and didn't wake when their two beds were pressed together, and Hermione placed between them.

"Thank you," she told Molly and Arthur, Molly looking close to tears. Hermione reached into her pocket, weakly withdrew the potion, quaffed it in one, and felt the effects almost instantly as a wonderful warm numbness began to creep over her. Ron snorted and moved closer to her unconsciously, spooning her from behind, and Harry turned on his side and curled in slightly, his bent knees now touching hers and his messy hair combining forces with her own wild mane as their foreheads almost made contact. Still clutching Snape's phial against her chest, Hermione finally and quite contentedly surrendered to sleep.

.

SS

.

The Carrows were avoiding him; that made him uneasy. It wasn't that he _missed_ the horrible siblings, but the fact that they were going out of their way to hide something did not bode well. They likely didn't know he could do Legilimency, but all the same, in the few times they were in each other's company, they wouldn't meet his eye. Amycus had come to him in his office whilst Granger had been there, but Severus hadn't managed to gather much, only that he was concealing something.

However tempting it was to simply order them into his office and force Legilimency on them, it would, alas, reveal his abilities to the Dark Lord the next time he dove into the Carrows' minds, if the siblings didn't tell him directly what Severus had done.

Was their secret something the Dark Lord had ordered them keep from Severus, or was it perhaps something they hoped to keep from the Dark Lord?

Severus left his office. He hadn't bothered to remove the blindfold and deafening charm that Granger had put on the portraits, much to the paintings' dismay. Still, he couldn't linger there. He had to _do_ something. He had coined a message to Granger two hours ago, and she'd yet to respond. He forced himself to think logically. If she had taken the potion he'd given her, she'd be unconscious for several hours.

.

HG

.

"Oi, Hermione!" the twins greeted.

She smiled genuinely back. "Hello, boys. You don't happen to have a burn salve, do you?"

Hermione had been alone when she awoke ten hours later, a blistering pain burning against her chest. First thing she had done was to remove the necklace that held the silver sickle, but the coin had been unwilling to be separated from her now enflamed flesh, bubbled with pus which caused it to stick. Clearly, it had been burning for some time before she woke.

"You don't create your own line of fireworks without a healthy supply of burn salve," said George, grinning broadly.

"Anything else you need?" asked Fred, waving his wand over her in a manner not unlike Madam Pomfrey.

She prodded her midsection with a finger. It seemed that her insides had stopped squirming in reparation. They had, however, begun squirming with a far more normal pain.

"Food," she replied. The small meal Snape had given her had come up when she had first arrived. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten before that.

"Coming right up. Mum's cooked up a storm for Harry and Ron. No doubt she'll be overjoyed to feed you too."

"I'll pop back to the shop and get that salve," said Fred. "I'll even throw in an 'Eat My Hat' hat, gratis."

Harry and Ron appeared a minute later, bringing food, and sat down on either side of her, looking guilty, relieved, and concerned all at once.

"You should have told us you were that bad off," Ron mumbled in the direction of his feet.

"Mrs. Weasley told us what happened," explained Harry.

Yes, Hermione suspected that she might. "The potion needed tending. That's the most important thing right now. Besides, I didn't know myself how serious it was. Not at the time. But I did go to Madam Pomfrey first thing." Not entirely true, but close enough. Hermione suspected that it was sheer adrenaline and stupidity that had kept her from collapsing.

"Well, she must not have done a thorough job," Ron pointed out.

Hermione shied away from admitting that she'd left before the Healing Matron could finish her treatment. Not it would have made much of a difference as far as the tremors were concerned. Those would just wear off in time. Hopefully.

.

Hermione remained in bed for the better part of a week. Fred and George were frequent visitors and made surprisingly fine nursemaids. They were adept at diagnoses and competent with healing charms and potions, and their bedside manner was refreshing. They never did anything to upset her or make things worse, but they always did their best to get her to smile. She appreciated it.

Ron and Harry, however, were her near constant companions. She and the boys closeted themselves away in their room for their private conclave and made plan after plan, contingencies for their contingencies.

They'd lost the sword at Malfoy Manor, so Nagini would have to be killed another way or the sword would have to be retrieved. None of them, however, were eager to return to the place to get it. It was only a short time before she would have to take Harry's blood and add it to the potion, then it was only a matter of killing Voldemort and his familiar…

"I don't imagine it would be that difficult to go face-to-face with Voldemort," said Harry, musing bitterly. "Just walk down the street and the Snatchers will get me. But what about Nagini?"

It was the same problem they had discussed several times before.

"Harry," Ron began. "What do you reckon would happen if You-Know-Who _knew_ his Horcruxes were destroyed? And that Nagini was the last?"

Harry snorted. "He probably wouldn't let her out of his sight."

Realising what he just said, he turned to Hermione and Ron, eyebrows so high it looked as if they were trying to hide in his messy fringe. "Do you think… that could actually work?" he asked disbelievingly. "Just somehow let him _know _the other Horcruxes are gone?"

"Perhaps, but what if he simply locks Nagini up somewhere impossibly protected? Then what would we do? We'd have made things even worse for ourselves," Hermione pointed out.

As if idly playing with her wand while deep in thought, Hermione let the tip rest on the sickle she had secretly removed from her pocket (she couldn't, for the moment, keep it around her neck while the burn was still healing).

_Nagini?_

She didn't look to see if she got it right, just sent the message, nor did she feel an answering warmth until a few hours later.

.

SS

.

Severus was striding down the corridor that evening, his mind in several places at once. Potter. Horcruxes. Granger. The Dark Lord. Nagini. The Carrows. His students. They all seemed to swirl together after a time, each piece impossible to extricate from the other, forming one impossible problem.

He was tempted to take a page out of Granger's book and Obliviate the Carrows after ransacking their minds for the information he wanted. The Dark Lord would be able to tell that a memory charm had been used, but it couldn't be traced back to him. But the Dark Lord would surely assume it...

He had been walking along the passage, cursing softly at his predicament, _predicaments_, rather, when just in front of him, where the corridor he traversed intersected with another, came Ginevra Weasley at a run, rounding the corner towards him.

When she saw him, she didn't freeze, like most rule breakers caught out after curfew. Instead, she immediately raised her wand, which was already out and ready, and put her back to the wall, poised to defend herself. Severus would have been some species of proud of her reaction had he not been so furious that she would do something so imbecilic in the first place.

His nostrils flared, his pulse quickened, and the blood pounded loud and hot through his body.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "Do you want to end up like Amberly? Is that why you do this? You have some kind of death wish like your precious Potter?"

The girl's jaw tightened, he could see the muscle working not to speak. Keeping his wand on her, he glanced around.

"Where is the other? You Gryffindors always travel in packs," he snarled.

Still, the girl didn't speak.

A quick _Hominem__ Revelio_ turned up nothing; the girl truly was on her own. Of all the stupid... She ought to have known better. Didn't Potter and Granger teach the redhead anything? Or perhaps the girl was just a decoy, and the real mischief was elsewhere.

He narrowed his eyes at her, as did she, though she wouldn't look directly at him. She glared at a spot just above his head, unwilling to make eye contact.

Taking points from Gryffindor had become an obsolete punishment, as they were already below zero. Any infraction, minor or severe, immediately merited castigation.

"Detention," he growled. "Since you seem so determined to leave this world, perhaps you ought to go to the Carrows. They'd be more than happy to oblige, as they did with your now dead classmate. And the youngest child, only daughter of the most prolific family of blood-traitors would be quite a prize." Here he let his voice go smoother, more taunting, "Let alone Harry Potter's own girlfriend." Her eyes went wide, clearly thinking that no one knew. And no one did, save himself. If the Carrows or the Dark Lord knew what the youngest Weasley meant to Potter, they would have taken her away long ago.

"Perhaps we can use you to lure the boy back here, hmm?"

"He won't come! He's cleverer than that!" she blurted, then glared again for him having goaded her into speech.

"No..." he continued in that condescending drawl. "He's not. Else he would not have gone after Lovegood..."

This was also news to her, it seemed. Perhaps now it had sunk in that it was her fault. The information she had provided had put Potter in an extremely dangerous situation.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly began to prickle, giving him only seconds' warning. Severus disarmed her, Silenced her, and Disillusioned the girl with three slashes of his wand, just before Alecto came round the same corner as Weasley had, looking harried. He hoped the foolish redhead had at least the sense enough to stay still, else she would be seen, Disillusionment spell or no. If Alecto discovered her now, Weasley would be lost forever, of that Severus was certain, and he didn't want any more deaths on his conscience.

"Alecto," he greeted in a dangerous purr. She clearly wasn't expecting to happen upon him, and fruitlessly tried to appear composed. If he hadn't already known she was up to something, this certainly would have clued him in. "Out for a late-night stroll?" As he spoke, he surreptitiously pocketed Weasley's wand and inched his way casually to the girl so that his voluminous robes hid her.

"Or were you perhaps looking for something in particular?" he offered. It had been a stab in the dark, but her expression, like that of a naked woman who has just realised she is not in fact alone, proved his supposition to be true.

He itched to know what she may have lost, but he couldn't risk baiting her further, not now with Weasley right there. Was she looking for something on behalf of the Dark Lord, and perhaps approaching a deadline for finding it? That would explain the search and her stressed appearance. Perhaps the Dark Lord suspected his Horcruxes were no longer where they ought to be and had told her to locate them.

Surely not.

With such an important task, the Dark Lord would surely want a more competent seeker, a person with complete access to the castle. Unless, of course, he doubted Severus' loyalty still...

Severus found he didn't really care anymore. So long as Nagini was killed and Potter got his potion, the truth of his allegiance hardly mattered. There really wasn't anything he could do anymore. He'd ask Granger later if there was anything left he was yet needed for. Else he might just go ahead and let himself be caught.

The sound of the frightened breathing reminded him that a duty still remained, the students. He had to keep them out of the Carrows' clutches. As he was doing now.

He waved a dismissive hand toward Alecto. "Don't let me impede your search," he said, only then considering the possibility that she was looking for Miss Weasley.

Alecto cautiously took her leave, but rather than continue in the way she had clearly been travelling, she chose to back step around the corner, not turning her back until she was out of sight, no doubt. He heard the sound of her footsteps, hastily retreating.

After a minute of just standing there in silence, making certain that Carrow was long gone, he set off.

"Keep to the wall and follow me," he ordered in a harsh whisper. He was aware that Alecto's arrival had rather undermined his carefully crafted taunts. Since he had obviously protected the girl from Carrow, the threat of giving her over to the woman fell a trifle flat.

Walking swiftly in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, Severus noticed Weasley didn't even make an attempt to silently slink away from him, indicating that she trusted him to some degree.

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, he handed the girl back her wand. He would let her take off the Disillusionment spell herself once she was safely inside. Her eyes were confused, wary, and even the tiniest bit hopeful.

"I can't have you thinking well of me," he told her with an earnest sigh. Dumbledore wouldn't want that. Unlike Granger, Ginevra would never be able to keep her silence from anyone, especially Potter.

"_Obliviate!" _

.

HG

.

"Does it have to be forcibly taken?" asked Harry, doing his best to keep his voice and face free from signs of apprehension. Hermione knew better, of course, knew that Harry could hardly help remembering the last time someone had taken his blood for the sake of a potion. She knew that this must be difficult for him, for all he tried to act otherwise.

"No," she replied gently with a smile. "Freely given will work just as well." _She hoped._ Harry heaved a sigh of relief and held out his arm.

Hermione was touched at the expression of trust on his face as he looked at her. She looked down at the transfigured knife in her hand, then back to Harry.

Holding it out to him, she asked, "Would you like to do it yourself? That way you'd have complete control." Completely opposite from the last time.

He nodded shakily and took the proffered knife, bringing the steel to the soft pale skin of his wrist.

Holding the blade tightly with a white-knuckled grip, he took a steadying inhalation through his nose, his jaw clenched as tightly as his fist. He let out the breath as he let out his blood, which after a brief moment started to flow steadily.

.

SS

.

_Got blood, _his sickle read.

Merlin, the hour was almost upon them. Only Nagini stood in the way of Potter facing the Dark Lord for the last time. For it certainly would be the last time, no matter who came out victorious. It would end, one way or another.

_No_, his mind corrected. _It ends for __**you**__ one way or another. For everyone else, it would be the beginning; either of a new age without Voldemort or of the Dark Lord's complete reign. _

.

HG

.

Flooing to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade was impossible, Fred told her.

"But I used the Floo in your shop to get _here_!" protested Hermione. She needed to get to Hogwarts, and exiting the fireplace from their shop would be the quickest and easiest way.

"And where _is_ the shop?" asked Fred.

"In Hogsmeade, which is where I want to… oh."

He nodded.

"What's the address in Birmingham, then?" she asked, with surprising patience.

Smiling, he replied, "Veal Convention Services, 8th Avenue North."

She repeated it quietly to herself, not bothering to question the odd direction. "And how do I get out at Hogsmeade instead of Diagon alley?" Or, Merlin forbid, some grungy industrial street in a non-magic industrial area.

"George is there now, he'll get you through, nooo problem," he assured her.

"Thanks, Fred. I mean it. You've been…" He and his brother had been a number of things to her that past week, yet she found herself oddly reluctant to verbally admit to her feelings lately.

_Like Snape_, she thought. It was the sort of thing the Headmaster would do, not her. Since she'd actually witnessed that display of emotions in his office, it made her realise how masked he really was. Perhaps it was her ridiculous and nonsensical attempt to balance things, especially now that things were about to spin wildly out of control. She didn't need her own emotional reactions adding to the pandemonium. That, at least, was the one thing she could do her best to control. Snape had taught her that.

.

Just as Fred had said, George facilitated her exit into the correct place from their shop that afternoon. As she had the Cloak and map, she felt confident in using both of them and the secret passages to get her to the potion unseen, despite it being broad daylight.

It was really a matter of waiting. Biding her time here, until so-and-so passed, stopping there until the coast was clear. She kept her face mostly glued to the Marauders' Map, only looking up to keep an eye out for ghosts, who didn't appear on the parchment.

She could have easily avoided the dread siblings Carrow, walking rather slowly on the map by themselves, but some prompt of curiosity urged her to… well… spy. She couldn't help wanting to observe them unawares, on the off-chance she'd discover something, _anything_, of interest.

It was a very _Harry_ thing to do and she knew it, but follow them she did. And very glad she was to have made that decision.

Brother and sister were snarling at one another when Hermione stole upon them. Neither Death Eater walked easily, Hermione instantly noted, which explained their unusually ponderous progress across the Map.

"Longbottom," said Alecto. "I'm sure he knows where Amberly is hiding."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. _Absalom Amberly, hiding? But both Ginny and Luna, even Snape, had said he had died. The Carrows had killed him._

Amycus' sneer was eloquently condescending. "How do you imagine getting him to tell you of the boy's hideout? You couldn't even get anything out of Amberly, and you know Longbottom is stronger. Your Crucios will do no more good on him than it did his parents. You've _really_ bollixed things up this ti—Agh!" he suddenly winced in pain. Throwing a spiteful glance at his sister, he grumbled. "You've made things worse by lying that the boy was dead, rather than escaped. And you've no way of finding out what the Dark Lord wants."

"Verituserum," Alecto suggested.

"If you are willing to explain to Snape why you want him to brew some, be my guest."

"_Snape_," Alecto hissed with evident bitterness, then turned her evil eye on her brother. "You are the Potions Master now, Amycus. _You_ make it."

He snorted at the possibility. Hermione, who had been unfortunate enough to have the man briefly as a Potions teacher, knew very well that he didn't have the skill for such a complex brew.

Hermione didn't dare follow after and simply let them pass. The last thing she heard clearly was Amycus insisting, "If you don't find him, Alecto…"

Absalom. Alive. And the siblings obviously quarrelling about it. Oh, but this was wonderful news! She had to tell Snape, let him know, ease that guilt that was painfully prevalent during their last meeting.

She hurried to the Headmaster's office.

.

"You again," he said unenthusiastically upon seeing her. Actually, 'unenthusiastic' was too polite a word. He seemed outright disgusted. Hermione stopped, stunned, as he stood in the middle of his office glaring down at her.

'_Again?_' Hermione thought, more than slightly stung. Their last encounter he'd seemed so concerned, almost caring. Now he seemed irritated by her (clearly unwelcome) presence. _Oh__,__ buck up, Granger, he's never been a __sweetheart__,_ she chided herself.

Hermione reasoned her own questionably tender feelings were making her more sensitive to his usual harshness. But that didn't matter now anyway; she had something important to tell him.

"Absalom escaped. The Carrows _didn't_ kill him. They're lying to cover up that they let him get away. They're hoping to recapture him before the Dark Lord finds out."

He looked at her as if she were speaking Mermish. "What are you babbling on about? You already told me this morning," he said frowning at her, but he softened ever so slightly. "Luckily," he added. "Else I'd have had to answer the Dark Lord's summons empty-handed."

_Summons? There was a Death Eater meeting?_

And what did he mean, this morning? She'd just arrived at the castle that afternoon. Not only that, but she'd only found out about Absalom herself moments before, how could she have told him any earlier?

She doubted someone Polyjuiced as her had come in to give him the exact same information, which left only one option…

"Oh. Right. Silly me. And, erm…. What time did I drop by this morning?" she asked as if casually.

"Drop by?" he said incredulously, a dangerous intensity in his tone. "_Drop by? _You say it as if it were a quick visit instead of loitering about in my room all day and then running out without a word of explanation!"

_All day in his room? _Well, she'd obviously have had to hole up _somewhere_ so she wouldn't run into herself, she supposed.

What was even more obvious was that she'd done something to seriously displease him. "I'm sorry. I really am, but I…" Realising that she couldn't make an excuse for an offence she wasn't aware of having done, she carried on as soothingly as she could. "I need you to answer the question. What time this morning?"

Arms crossed, he glowered at her for a moment before replying. "You woke me about a quarter to six." His voice was deceptively calm and so very cold. Some species of resentment, she suspected, but couldn't be certain.

She glanced at her watch. "Right, then." She approached the desk, searching for something in particular. A quarter to six would mean she'd have to go eleven hours back. She found it, but it was different than the Time-Turner she'd used before. Still, she would figure it out; Snape had already claimed she arrived at that time so she must have done, must do, it correctly. Resolute, she looked back up at him. "See you in a bit. It's time for your wake-up call."

She had just enough time to see his confusion fade to understanding then to a look of sudden wide-eyed fear such as she'd never seen on his face before. He threw out an arm as if to try and stop her and cried, "Wait!" just as she felt the odd yet familiar sensation of going back in time.

Hermione landed at 5:45 quietly. The office was darkened and the portraits were sleeping beneath their blindfolds. She tiptoed to his bedroom, knowing that if she'd survived to 'loiter for hours in his rooms', he couldn't have murdered her for startling him awake. Still, she didn't want to take any chances.

She spied him on the bed, sheets twisted about his legs as if he'd been trying to run away in his dreams. He wore a horrid gray nightshirt, and his wand was in his hand. She would have to get that away from him before she woke him, else she was in for a painful time of it.

Softly as she could, she approached him. He twitched a bit, but he continued sleeping. When she got close enough, she thought she'd gently pull his wand from his hand, but saw, to her dismay, that he had it clenched tightly in his fist.

Grimacing, she made a snatch for it, ripping it out of his grip, which woke him immediately.

He was on her in a second, tackling her to the floor and doing his best to strangle her to death.

"Lu—lu—lumos!" she choked out, trying to provide enough light so that he could see whom he was trying to murder.

It worked.

Sort of.

His immediate reaction was to loosen his hold about her neck, but a moment later, he snarled, tightening again.

"What did Hermione Granger have with her when I found her in the forest after curfew?"

"Night… blooming…." she croaked, coughed, and tried again. "_Toadstool._"

This time he did loosen his grip. Let go of her neck entirely, actually. The furious expression remained, however.

"What do you think you are doing?" he raged. "I might have killed you."

"S'why I took your wand," she replied, still gasping for breath and rather hoping this would be the last time he tried to choke the life from her. She remembered all too well the time in Myrtle's bathroom when he had tried to convince he was a true Death Eater by strangling her. "Knew it would… take a bit more time to… do it the Muggle way... Hoped you'd realise… before you got the job done." Voicing these two simple sentences had been a painful struggle. She felt extremely light-headed.

He pushed off her angrily and stomped to the other side of the room. Frustrated, he combed his fingers through his hair.

"You _hoped_ I'd realise before I killed you. Of all the…"

He seemed too furious to finish the thought.

She had known he wouldn't kill her, else the future Snape would have been astounded to see a dead woman walk into his rooms that afternoon instead of simply saying 'you again."

Realising that as he might be summoned at any minute, she needed to tell him as soon as possible, Hermione pushed back the blackness that tried to tunnel round her vision and said, "It's the Carrows. They let him escape. I know you said they killed Absalom, but actually they got careless and let him get away." Ouch. Her throat burned. She felt like she needed water, but shuddered at the thought of having to swallow anything. "They are hoping to find him again before the Dark Lord finds out."

Hermione realised at this dizzied moment that the scene she'd witnessed between the Carrows had actually been _after_ their meeting that morning, perhaps that angry tirade had been a _result_ of Snape tattling on them to Voldemort, and their injured state the results of their master's displeasure.

"How do you know this." It wasn't a question. It was a demand for information.

"I heard them under the Cloak," she croaked, painfully trying to draw in air. "Arguing… whose fault it was… he got away…"

Hermione was thwarted in her attempt to explain more by her body inconveniently choosing that moment to pass out.

.

When Hermione awoke later, she wasn't on the floor but the Headmaster's bed. She didn't know where he was or if he'd returned from the meeting yet, but judging by the clock on the nightstand, she still had eight hours before her future self would go back in time. Unable to come up with a better way to pass the hours, she went back to sleep.

.

_Snape was trying to kill her again. _

_Desperately__,__ she tried to fight off the hands that clamped around her neck__,__ but she couldn't. She was gasping for air, pleading with him to stop. She tried to light her wand so he could see her face… _

Hermione was shaken awake from her nightmare.

Her eyes opened and she blinked at him a few times before she realised that a.) He had come back from his meeting and b.) He wasn't trying to kill her after all. '_Of course he isn't_," she reproached herself.

"Sorry. Bad dream," she explained, a trifle embarrassed, not looking him in the eye. It wouldn't do to tell the man that he'd featured prominently in her nightmare.

"It was only bruise salve," he said stiffly, putting a jar of paste down on the nightstand. Now that she was more alert, she noticed that his fingers were covered in blue goo. What was more, she could feel the stuff starting to cool on her neck.

She sat up, taking the jar. "I'll do the rest," she stated.

His cheek ticked in strain. "Of course," he bit out, either uncomfortable that he'd been caught red-handed (or blue-fingered, rather) trying to help her, or because he assumed that she didn't want him touching her after what he'd done to her that morning. Which, she had to admit, was sort of true.

But whatever the case, it was clear that he'd gathered well enough what she'd been dreaming about. She felt like she should apologise, but didn't. It wasn't as though she could control what she dreamt.

Trying to change the subject, she almost asked, 'how was the meeting?' before realising that technically she shouldn't even know he'd been summoned, as she'd passed out before he left.

Time trickled by in unbearably awkward silence.

She couldn't stand it any longer. She had to say _something_.

"I'm sorry!" she burst out.

"_You_ are apologising?" he asked, surprised.

They both knew that really _he_ should be apologising, but he seemed to struggle with the word 'sorry' and she honestly hadn't really expected or needed an apology from him. He'd reacted just as she imagined he would.

"I… I'm sorry for waking you up," she said. "I suppose I could have gone about it better…"

He grunted.

Still at a loss as to how to bridge the gap, she asked tentatively, "Would you mind helping me with this?" She held up the bruise salve. "I don't know if I can do it after all."

It was very weak as far as excuses went, and clearly a lie, but he didn't call her on it. Instead, he took it as it was meant and nodded silently, accepting her peace offering in the form of the jar of salve.

She reached around to hold her wild mane back as best she could. She watched as two fingers of his right hand dipped into the jar, then closed her eyes so as to sidestep the awkward business of trying to avoid his by looking around elsewhere. She was afraid that if he looked into her eyes, she'd give something away. She wasn't entirely sure herself what she felt, but she knew that it was best kept hidden.

Ever so gently, he began to smooth the salve into her skin. She relaxed, trying to focus on the feeling of the glutinous substance and ignore completely the movement of his fingers. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but she could do nothing about her heart, which was banging away like a drum in her chest as if treacherously _trying_ to get his attention, when that was the last thing she wanted.

.

SS

.

He could feel her rapid pulse in her neck as he applied the salve. She was putting up a brave front, once again trying to spare his feelings by not offending him, but he knew how much he frightened her. Understandable, after he'd nearly killed her that morning. Now she was going to face her fear just to prove to him that she trusted him.

He got the message, loud and clear, and was humbly grateful and yet at the same time repulsed. He should have just let her do it herself, as she clearly was uncomfortable.

"You don't have to be afraid," he told her.

"I'm not," she replied instantly, though her voice was shaky and breathless.

He shook his head. Gryffindors. Never would admit to fear even when the proof of it was beating a steady tattoo against his fingertips.

.

HG

.

"What time is it?" she asked once the massage had stopped, and she could no longer feel his breath on her face. She needed to be out of there by the time her other self came rushing in to tell him the now old news.

Snape removed his pocket watch and reported the time, but not before giving the open timepiece a brief but appreciative stroke with his thumb. It was clearly a sort of ritual, as the gesture came easily to him, and appeared to give him some comfort. It was the closest thing to affectionate she'd ever seen him be. Perhaps the watch held some sentimental value for him, like Harry's did. It was tradition, was it not, for a wizard to be given a pocket watch when he came of age?

"Four thirty four," he reported curtly.

She thought curiously that although it seemed she hadn't contacted Harry and Ron for hours, in actuality she, in another part of the castle, was using her galleon that very minute to send them a message.

But she didn't have time to muse about this, as she needed to hurry and get out before she ran into herself. It would be cutting things close, though. No wonder Snape had simply said, "You again," when she entered his office that afternoon. She would have only just left. She hastily stood and looked around for her accoutrements for stealth.

She found the Cloak and snatched it up, ready to fling it over herself the moment she found the map. Except it didn't seem to be anywhere. Frowning with impatience, she started her search again, and was about to get on her hands and knees to see if it might have accidently found its way under a bed or desk, when she eyed her erstwhile Potions teacher with suspicion.

"Give it back," she said, holding out her hand.

He raised an impertinent eyebrow, and had the audacity to say, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I can't navigate the castle during the day without it." She began tapping her foot impatiently and gave him her best 'Head Girl' look, for all that he'd ruthlessly stripped her of that title and position when he'd become Headmaster. "I need it to check on the potion," she added pointedly.

He snorted bitterly, and pulled the desired parchment from the pocket of his robes and grudgingly handed it back to her, but not before several moments' hesitation. She snatched it from him and heaved a sigh of relief.

If he cared to give it a glance, he would probably see _two_ Hermione Grangers at large in the castle. In fact, it was some wonder that she hadn't noticed that herself when she'd first arrived. Granted, she'd been focussed on negotiating her way through the castle to the potion (which she hadn't even reached), but she _had_ quickly sought Snape, and found him in his office. She wondered now what she would have done had she bothered to check the nearby bedroom on the map only to find herself.

Well, it didn't matter now anyway. Presently, the most important thing was to leave before there was two of her in the same place at the same time. He might very well get suspicious and kill one of her for being an imposter. She thought briefly of explaining the situation to him, but not only did she not have time for an adequate explanation, but she needed him to react exactly as he had, unsuspicious in giving her the time she'd need to go back to.

She winced, remembering his look of horrified comprehension when she'd used the odd Time-Turner. He'd known at that moment that she was going back to wake him up to give him the news, and that he would nearly kill her in the process.

No wonder he'd tried to stop her.

Oh well, too late for that now. It had all already happened, and she wasn't going to change it.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," she intoned.

As the ink began to spread, she hastily searched for herself, locating her other position to determine how much time she had left.

Hermione swore aloud (one of Ron's ruder words) as she saw that she was already on her way up.

Snape looked at her oddly and craned his neck to try to see what on the map had distressed her, but she hastily folded it up.

"I have to go!" she cried, and messily donned the cloak and dashed out of the room, out of the office altogether, down the revolving staircase and into the deserted corridor.

She made it just in time. Hidden by invisibility, she pressed herself against the wall, reopened the map, and held her breath as she watched (and heard) herself dash by and ascend the spiral staircase.

Hermione followed her double, waiting outside the Headmaster's door until she saw her name disappear. Meanwhile, she pressed her ear against the door to listen.

"_You again,_" she heard his stiff muffled greeting through the wood.

"_Absalom escaped. The Carrows didn't kill him. They're lying to cover up that they let him get away. They're hoping to recapture him before the Dark Lord finds out."_

"_What are you babbling on about? You already told me this morning." _A pause, and more quietly, he almost reluctantly added_, "Luckily, else I'd have had to answer the Dark Lord's summons empt__y-h__anded."_

"_Oh. Right. Silly me. And__,__ erm…. What time did I drop by this morning?"_

"_Drop by? __**Drop by?**__ You say it as if it were a quick visit instead of loitering about in my room all day and then running out without a word of explanation!" _

Ah. That's why he had seemed so cross with her.

"_I'm sorry. I really am, but I… I need you to answer the question. What time this morning?"_

Bitterly, he replied, _"You woke me about a quarter to six." _

"_Right then. See you in __a__ bit. It's time for __your__ wake-up call." _

Hermione slipped in to see her other self disappear into the past as Snape looked on in impotent dismay.

Hermione felt horribly guilty for all she'd put him through that day.

She pulled off the Cloak. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd gone back in time until you told me just now."

It occurred to her rather belatedly that it might be a bit of a shock to see her again so immediately after she'd vanished in time.

He simply looked at her and groaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are very trying on the nerves, Miss Granger."

Trying to make light of things, she remarked, "Well, it wouldn't be the first time I'd gone back in time and spent nearly a whole day in your office." Looking back, it was the most absurd of coincidences.

He snorted, but his eyes remained closed. Hermione thought that might have been almost a snort of amusement if he hadn't looked so exhausted.

.

SS

.

"Why was Absalom taken in the first place?" she asked quietly.

Severus sat down, altogether undone by the bizarre day the girl had foisted upon him. A day that couldn't end soon enough. It was only after he'd given her an explanation that he realised he'd even been talking.

"Before today, I thought he had been just another unfortunate student to receive detention. It wasn't until this morning that I learned the Carrows were trying to use the boy to get information on the father."

The girl frowned perplexedly. "Why didn't they just ask you?"

"The task was given to them, not to me." He added after a moment, "And they do not know I can do Legilimency."

"The Gryffindors all know you can," she admitted guiltily. Severus was well aware that the first thing Granger had done after Dumbledore's death was to tell her house mates not to meet his eye.

Unable to do it any other way, the Carrows had been forced to attempt to torture it out of Amberly.

"I thought it a detention gone bad; that they had been excessive in their duress and killed him, but, as you pointed out to me, the boy had managed to escape, probably through the help of some classmates." Here he gave her a pointed look. "The Carrows had been so ashamed and afraid that they had concealed the whole business by claiming the boy died."

"Wouldn't that be worse?" Granger asked. "Losing something permanently rather than perhaps just temporarily?"

"Death under torture is something the Dark Lord understands," he explained easily, for all as if this were an informal lecture. "The Carrows had been forgiven, especially since they'd put forth that they'd done their best and found that the boy didn't seem to know anything in any case. He was of no use, so his death was immaterial." Of course, rather than tell the Dark Lord themselves, they'd had Severus relay the message, so that their master wouldn't look in their minds and find their story was untrue. Except thanks to the girl sitting across from him, the lie was uncovered.

"Poor planning, they found," he concluded. Severus couldn't help but grin, perhaps a bit vindictively, at the hated pair's punishment, but quickly wiped it away when he saw the girl was watching him. She saw this and smirked in kind.

"I can assure you, I don't have any great sympathy for the Carrows. What goes around, comes around, they say." Her expression held a triumphant spite that matched his own. Yes, the girl had every reason to despise the Carrows, and had suffered greatly; not only at the end of Alecto's wand.

He himself was looking forward to quite a few people getting their comeuppance. Wormtail topping the list). He took another glance at the hard determined lines of Granger's face and added Bellatrix as a close second.

.

Severus had accepted her invitation to join her in adding the blood; the final step to the potion.

It was a smooth addition, no steaming or bubbling or, Merlin forbid, an explosion of any kind. The entire brew glowed slightly as Granger stirred in the blood, and it settled finally, changing colour to a muddy crimson.

Granger stared at it for a time, seemingly dazed. "I can't believe that's it." She exhaled, but it was far too quick to be a sigh. It was almost as if someone had dealt her a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

Blinking rapidly, she added, looking up at him, "Thank you, sir. I really don't know what I would have done without your help."

He didn't know how to reply to this, so he didn't.

"Are you going to bottle that?" he asked rather brusquely.

This snapped her out of whatever reverie she'd been lost in. "Yes, of course."

She'd come prepared and had brought a large phial for the purpose. Before she ladled the potion into it, Severus snatched it from her hand and tapped it with his wand to add an Unbreakable Charm on the glass, so it wouldn't be lost by accidentally getting smashed in a bag or pocket, only to find that the charm was already firmly in place.

The girl smiled up at him as he handed it back. "When you carry around as much as I do in a bag, you put Unbreakable Charms on everything. Started doing that in first year after an ink bottle ruined an essay for Transfiguration and a library book. Madam Pince was not pleased…"

The grimace proved that the memory was still a painful one.

The moment she corked the bottle had a sense of finality to it, and they were both silent for a time.

"I guess… this is it then," she said uncertainly. Severus noted that she would not look directly at him, making him wonder if she were hiding things from him yet, even at this late stage. He was just about to reach out and force her to meet his eye when something stopped him.

She'd proven to be a trustworthy ally; he didn't need to force anything from her. Granger had always come to him with unwavering honesty about everything. If she didn't share it, it was because she didn't need to.

This secret, whatever it may be, was hers to keep.

He nodded respectfully. "If there is anything else I can do, you know how to reach me."

The sickle which he'd stuck into the upper portion of his pocket watch went everywhere with him.

"There is one thing you might do _if_ you think you can do it safely." She repeated, just to be sure, "_If._"

"What is that?"

"The Sword of Gryffindor. We took it to Malfoy's in case we had the opportunity of killing Nagini."

"It's still there," he enquired, though it came out more of a statement.

"I'm not sure where it might be moved to, but we left it there, yes. If you can't, it's all right. The only other Horcruxes are living, so we can use the killing curse."

Severus was not at all deceived by the matter-of-fact tone of voice, the off-hand suggestion of using an Unforgivable. Putting aside the fact that one of the Horcruxes resided in her best friend, the thought of her casting the killing curse held as little appeal to him as it obviously did her, even if it was just a snake.

Though Severus doubted anyone could consider Nagini _just_ a snake…


	22. The End

_**Author's Note: **__I tell you now, and I hope you'll forgive me for this, but I've cut out much of the actual Final Battle. Unless otherwise stated or implied, assume it happened similarly to the original book. I see little point in repeating things you've already read, or things you can just as easily deduce for yourselves._

_A reader has done a lovely fan art for the previous chapter. The link is in my profile._

_And finally, a Hagrid-sized **thank you** to BorgPrincess, my wonderful beta and encourager extraordinaire. This story would probably never have been completed without her endless kind words. Anyone who enjoys this story has her to thank for telling me at the beginning that it was worth anything at all._

_That's everything. So with no further ado, __I hope you enjoy the final chapter of The Professor's Discretion._

* * *

**Chapter 22: **_ The End_

.

"Look," Harry began. "I just wanted you, both of you, to know that erm… well… you don't have to do this."

"Harry…" both Hermione and Ron interrupted.

"No, just listen. I know you're going to say you'll stay with me, and I know that you really mean it… and you don't know how much that means to me, but I want you to really think before I do this. Think about your futures…"

"What about yours, Harry?" said Ron.

"Mine wasn't my choice to make. Yours is. And I want…" Here Harry had to stop and swallow very hard. "I want you both to _have_ a future. Very much. And that might not happen if you come with me."

Unable to stop the tears from falling, Hermione gently pulled her hand out of Ron's and took both of Harry's.

"We all of us stand a better chance of having any sort of future if we work together, Harry."

"I think we'll need all the help we can get," added Ron, a nervous, sheepish, boyish grin on his face. Hermione loved Ron, but she also pitied him almost. He looked so, well, nauseous. Granted, Hermione's own stomach was turning over and over and her heart was as heavy as it had ever been, but she did not doubt even for a minute, what her course of action must be. Ron would stand by Harry because it was the right thing to do, despite how terrified he obviously was. And wasn't that what made him a Gryffindor?

Hermione didn't feel fear for herself. Not anymore. Whether it was all that time with Bellatrix Lestrange or if it was the conviction she felt for the cause, but the thought of dying wasn't frightening. No, the only thought she worried about was that Harry and Ron might not make it through, or, even worse, that they wouldn't succeed and Voldemort would win.

A consolation was that no matter what the outcome, her parents would be safe, happy, ignorant of the fact that they may have lost their daughter.

Looking back now, at the pivot point, she didn't regret what she had done. She only regretted that it had been necessary. Perhaps it had been bad form, or even morally wrong. But if it meant her parents were safe and happy, well, that made it worth it. It would always be worth it. She couldn't choose between the love of her parents and her devotion to the cause. She just hoped that, despite what she'd done to them, that someday, somehow, they would be proud of her.

"Please," Harry begged. "Just think about it? You know I won't think any less of you. I just… I couldn't stand it if something happened to one of you because of me."

Hermione, who had heard this speech at least once every year for the last seven years, had expected this, and already had her response prepared, though it varied greatly from previous years. This wasn't just about friendship. Though she would stick by Harry to the end in any case, this was much more.

"Harry. This is my fight just as much as it is yours. More so. Yes, you were chosen, but I'm a muggleborn. This is _my_ battle. Voldemort is against _me_, and _my _kind. If anyone has the right, the duty, to stand by you and fight, it's _me_. And you _won't_ take that away from me. Not when it means so much."

Harry smiled, though a little grimly, and nodded, finally accepting. As one, they both turned to Ron.

"Well," he said, shrugging awkwardly. "I figure, as You-Know-Who is an absolute nutter, I have a vested interest as well. Can't have him as next Minister for Magic, can we? I mean, it would erm…. ruin my chances, wouldn't it?"

Harry snorted. "Didn't know you were planning on standing for office, Ron."

"Well, I _might_. You never know! Need a Plan B in case I don't make it onto the Cannons, you know."

"You know if you _do _make Minister, I'm not writing your legislation for you," said Hermione with mock sternness.

"Ah," Ron countered, raising a finger. "But if you _do_ then you can implement rights for House Elves."

Huh. Hermione found herself actually considering that future. Once she'd finished fighting for muggleborn rights that didn't mean the fight was over. Others needed help too. They had been her first cause, after all. She couldn't simply give them up.

But one thing at a time...

.

SS

.

Severus rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger, knowing that every moment he wasted in the stupid act meant a moment lost for her, he was robbing her time to plan for her friends, for the Order. And yet, he couldn't deny himself this one self-indulgence, this one minute of calm… before the storm. Once he sent her the message, it was officially the beginning of the end. Illogical as the sentiment was, he had to acknowledge within himself, the desire to keep Hermione Granger off the grounds, where she would be a priority target, second only to Harry Potter. But, it was the plan; they had both of them agreed to it, and Severus had known, as well did the girl herself, the risk involved when they had initially discussed it.

Still, knowing what must be done didn't affect the wish for her survival. More importantly, however, neither did his wish for her survival affect the knowledge of what must be done. The mission was paramount. She'd need to rally the Order, Dumbledore's Army, anyone else she could. Granger had assured him she'd planned for this eventuality, had spoken to the elder Weasleys and Kinsgly and Lupin; doubtlessly Minerva had been informed. They would all be awaiting Potter's call.

Therefore it was time to summon her, and Potter, into harm's way. He reflected a trifle bitterly that he'd been trying to keep them out of danger their whole lives, merely so they'd be able to die at the appropriate time. Which was now.

_Now_.

Severus let out a shuddering breath and forced himself to point his wand at the coin.

_**It is time.**_

He stared at the silver sickle she'd given him, unable to exactly classify what he felt about _that_ being the last message he ever sent her. Somehow, it wasn't what he wanted to say…

But it was what needed to be said.

Not only would he likely never speak to her again, but considering that both sides would be bringing considerable numbers to the grounds tonight, would he even _see _her? A few spells revealed the hidden sword of Gryffindor which he'd taken great pains to steal from the Malfoys. How would he get it to her?

The hilt alone was heavy in his guilty grip. _Far cry from a Gryffindor_, he thought. Never had he before admitted even to himself that regret. He'd always been the paragon of Slytherin, the Head of the House itself. And yet here, now, at the end, he wished he were worthy to wield that sword.

"Better to die a Gryffindor than live as a Slytherin…" he said to himself; an aphorism that he'd have ridiculed at any other time in his life. He looked up suddenly, afraid that Albus might have heard. Severus' chest constricted painfully, seeing the painted pale blue eyes shine with unshed tears.

"I've always thought they sorted them too young," Albus said. No, _the portrait_ said. Since Severus had heard the Headmaster say it in life, it was especially hard to remember that the old face looking down on him wasn't really Dumbledore. It was such an exact likeness, the voice recalled the man in every way, pitch, tone, timbre, and the words he'd heard were words Dumbledore had often said in life.

Not for the first time, Severus wished Albus were still alive, that he had the real wizard watching over him, as he used to, not just a painting on a wall.

Up until that moment, he'd never really spoken to the painting of his mentor on account of the other portraits in the office. All the past Headmasters and Headmistresses hung there with nothing to do but eavesdrop. Before that might have meant the difference between success and failure, between secrecy and exposure. What did it matter now?

"Albus," he croaked, wondering belatedly if he were even strong enough for this conversation…

.

**HG**

.

Hermione stood, clutching the warm coin in her hand, holding it against her chest. She felt her heart pound against her closed fist. She knew she needed to get started but she couldn't stop herself from just taking a moment to hold this last bit of him she was likely ever to get. She wanted to respond, but not a single word in the language, or combination of them for that matter, could do justice to her sentiments just then. If she were with him, if she could see him, it would be different. She could show him; get her entire message to him through a hug, a handshake. Even simply looking him in the eyes would do it, perhaps better than any other way.

But that wasn't an option, and she couldn't stand around there all afternoon trying to think of the right thing to say that still wouldn't say enough.

Hermione put the coin in her pocket and went back downstairs to seek Harry and Ron.

They were sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating scones. She was trying to decide how she should begin to convince them that now was the moment they'd need to rally the Order when Harry suddenly gasped and put his hand to his forehead.

He hissed in pain as she, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley all gathered around him in concern, wondering what he was gathering through his connection with Voldemort.

In the end, Harry saved her the trouble of telling him; he already knew. He withdrew the phial of potion Hermione had spent so long working creating, and uncorked it. Ron's eyes went wide in understand, but Molly was incapable of interpreting the significance of the action. Stiffening his resolve, he downed the concoction, his eyes clenched shut. When he lowered the bottle they opened again and he reported through clenched teeth, "It's time."

.

**SS**

**.**

That was the thing he loved most about potions. One always knew exactly what to do next, and if done properly, one always knew what would result. That was a luxury which didn't extend into any other aspect of his life.

Severus felt he was rushing, stumbling through problems guided merely by guesswork and gumption, hoping that things turn out all right.

In potion making he had agency over the outcome. In life, he had agency over nothing at all.

In a moment of last minute urgency, Severus had chanced to break away from the bedlam happening on the Hogwarts grounds, clutching the old sorting hat desperately in his one hand. The other hand clutching even more desperately to his wand.

_How to get them the sword?_ His mind bellowed at him. Even if he did find her, she'd doubtlessly be with Potter, forcing a confrontation instead of a hand-off. He could leave it somewhere and have them retrieve it, but any location safe enough for a drop-off would be impossible to describe accurately enough on the limited space on the coin. He didn't even bother wondering how she would explain to her friends she knew it was there.

There really was only one option. He knew that it might not work. The Dark Lord was looking for Potter, and therefore the boy wouldn't likely follow a strange patronus, but what choice did he have? If Potter failed to get the sword, then he'd simply have to use an unforgivable.

A loud boom sounded from the forest, followed imminently by a shuddering of the earth beneath his feet. There was no time for further debate. He dropped the Sorting Hat that contained the sword and didn't even spare a glance at (or a thought about what memory he used to conjure) the patronus he fired off before flying back to the Dark Lord.

.

It was pandemonium. Students, teachers, Order members, Death Eaters, Hogsmeade Villagers, forest inhabitants of all shapes, sizes and species, had joined the fray. The dead and dying lay twitching or inert on the ground, ignored until there was time to heal or collect them. He'd made only cursory glances at the fallen. He knew most of them, but none caused him to rejoice or despair. He'd fired off curses as well, dropping Death Eaters with now reckless abandon. Potter and Granger were nowhere to be seen, despite the Dark Lord's search.

Even from a distance, it was impossible not to notice Ginerva Weasley. She fought so fiercely, her curse-light shone so brightly it was difficult _not_ to notice. It was only after following her spell fire that she saw whom she was cursing.

_ No_, he thought, afraid that the fiery girl might destroy her opponent. Pettigrew was his; Severus had claimed it… 17 years ago.

Pettigrew, ever the coward, knew he couldn't defeat his opponent. Not for the first time, he transformed into a rat and ran away, frustrating Potter's lover by disappearing into the mad press of bodies and wild flashings of curse-light.

While the Weasley girl was immediately pressed to defend herself from other quarters, Severus was determined not to lose sight of the rat. Several times some obstruction blocked his view, or Severus he had to defend himself or take down a fellow Death Eater, but the further Pettigrew got, the more certain Severus became about the pathetic pests destination.

It was no surprise when Severus spied the rodent scurrying into the Shrieking Shack…

"Time's up, Pettigrew," he announced as he crashed through the door. "No more running. No more hiding."

"Almen Revelio!" Quickly he cast the spell he and Granger had devised in the endeavour to search for horcruxes, one that revealed a soul, rather than a human (as Pettigrew wasn't currently a _hominem_.) He quickly found him and changed him back into a man, or at least the pitiful excuse for one that he was.

There was no real struggle, no effort, no challenge in overpowering Wormtail, but Severus didn't feel cheated. Disarming the traitor, snapping the wand he wasn't worthy of before his eyes and knocking him flat on his back was a matter of seconds.

"Severus!" he squeaked. "Why? We're on the same side!" Severus didn't bother to answer.

This was his chance, his moment, something, _the one thing_, he'd been looking forward to. Killing Pettigrew with his bare hands. As he strangled the life from the little rat, Severus glared down at him, enjoying every moment.

"Any last words, you miserable coward?" He didn't really give the rat much time though, he'd already started squeezing and he knew nothing could now stop him from completing the course.

Severus read resignation in the other man's eyes.

"Do it," Peter croaked. _"I deserve it." _

That might have moved another man to mercy, but not Severus Snape.

"For Lily," he growled, tightening his grip even more.

Wormtail's eyes, already bulging, flickered wider in understanding. Yes, Severus wasn't doing this because he was a traitor to the Dark Lord; this was personal vengeance. "Even though I reported the prophecy, _you_ could have kept her safe! _You_ could have protected her but you betrayed her! She trusted you and you…" Severus was too furious to finish his sentence. Pettigrew had started flailing in any case, the last death throws. Severus held on as if for dear life, an ironic reverse parallel, considering.

Despite knowing Wormtail was now well dead, Severus didn't want to let go yet, didn't want this moment to be over. He'd been yearning for it for years and it had lasted but a moment.

But perhaps if he'd let go sooner he would have been able to reach his wand in time, but then again, perhaps not.

"Expeliarmus!" Bella cried.

Severus spun round and stood, knowing by her expression that she'd been there, watching, for some time. She hadn't stopped him from killing Pettigrew though. She hadn't seen the need.

Bellatrix pointed both of their wands at him, a triumphant smile on her face and a mad gleam in her eyes. She didn't even give him time to rise from the floor. "Sectumsempra!"

.

Life had always been cruel to him. To narrowly avoid death in the Shrieking Shack two decades ago only for it to find him again now, on the floor next to his enemy, and by his own spell. This was not how he'd wanted to die, but there was no point in cursing the fates now. Flat on his back, he felt his life blood seep from him, wetting his clothes and the floor around him.

"I _knew_ it," she hissed. "I knew you were a traitor all along but no one would listen. You've been helping that boy the whole time. I knew you were no longer loyal to the Dark Lord!"

"I never was," he said weakly, but with pride. A foreign, forgotten concept until that moment. _Pride._

The furious, sputtering look on Bella's face was satisfying, despite knowing that she would take out her temper on his expiring body. He closed his eyes, waiting for it.

"Cru—!" Bellatrix began, but was cut off by another unexpected but familiar voice.

"Expeliarmus!"

Severus' eyes few open at the sound of Granger's voice. Impossibly, she was there in the Shrieking Shack and had disarmed Lestrange. Actually, the spell had taken but one of the two wands Bella had been wielding. Quickly, she switched Severus' own wand from her left hand to her right, ready to kill.

That Granger might die by _his_ wand was even worse than him dying next to Wormtail in the house of a werewolf. Far worse.

Granger was thrown off her feet by an angry explosion. Severus tilted his head back as far as it would go but he could not see her, didn't know how the girl had weathered the blast.

Screeching with rage, Bellatrix wheeled back to Severus, wanting to finish him off first, apparently. Severus anguished that there was naught he could do but lay there and die, no help to Hermione Granger. Then again, perhaps Bella would linger killing him long enough to give the girl the time she needed to recover and get away. In fact, he thought he heard her moving from behind him.

"_Now_ you die, Snape!"

"Oh no you don't, you bitch!" Granger screamed back, music to Severus' ears; for all that everything seemed to be growing quieter and darker. "_**Sectumsempra!**_" Granger cried, but not alone. A trio of voices, hers, Potter's and Weasley's, cast _his_ spell as one. Had the other two been there the whole time? Severus didn't care either way.

He watched as Bellatrix fell, and knew that with three times the wounds she would die. Even before he did.

"_Good girl,_" he wheezed, glad. Now that Granger had ended Bellatrix, they had both got their revenge.

Unlike him, however, Granger didn't spend any time relishing in her kill. Instead, she dropped immediately to his side. It was with an odd sense of _déjà vu_ that he listened to her babble about healing spells and blood replenishing potions; trying for the second time in her life to save him from bleeding to death.

She cast some ineffective spells, the wounds reopening as quickly as she healed them. Without the exact counter curse to _Sectumsempra_ (the intricate process of which only _he _knew) she had no chance of success.

This wasn't how he _wanted _to die, but he knew that this was it. The least he could do, the _only_ thing he could do, was give her peace of mind about it. She would certainly fail. If he didn't stop her trying, she would blame herself for not being able to save him and the guilt would forever plague her.

With the last of his draining energy, he reached up and grabbed her wand hand, halting her in her efforts. She didn't pay any more attention to the blood smears than he did. Her eyes were desperate but determined, panicked and pained.

"Not this time," he told her softly, which was the only way he could say anything at this point.

"But—"

"No," he insisted. "It's alright. Please…"

Her eyes grew tearful in understanding, but she nodded all the same.

His hand dropped to the floor, unable to keep its hold on hers. Potter and Weasley's faces appeared above him, each with strained expressions.

His vision was darkening, the extremities getting numb, but he felt Granger take his hand, pressing his wand into his palm and closing his fingers around it. A useless gesture, but not meaningless. He took it gratefully. The familiar feel of the wood made him complete. He wouldn't die naked. Or alone, it seemed.

It was then he let them go. Occulmency walls he'd been constantly fortifying for decades fell at his will, and a flood of memories leaked out. He ejected them from his head, memories he no longer needed, nor clung to. He didn't need them. Not at the last. He let those remembrances go… to the boy who deserved them more than Severus did. The boy deserved the truth, something no one had ever given either of them.

.

**HG**

.

It was bad enough watching the blood seep out from his body, it was quite another to see the thoughts seep from his mind. It was then that Hermione truly understood that he was dying. When Severus Snape willingly offered up his own thoughts, something he'd guarded so assiduously his whole life, then it was truly the end.

At the same time her mind was shouting 'No!' her hands collected his memories, these last remnants of him. Soon they'd be all that was left. She snatched them up as quickly and greedily as a starving peasant would fall upon a purse-full of dropped coins.

He began gasping for air, his lungs desperately reaching for oxygen his blood simply wasn't providing.

"Forgive me," he rasped.

His eyes, for all that they looked in their direction, seemed to focus on a place far beyond them. Hermione wasn't sure to whom he'd been speaking. To her? To Harry? Or some other third party not even there; Dumbledore?

_Lily Potter… _for whom he had murdered Peter Pettigrew_?_

Snape hardly seemed aware of his surroundings anymore, but was desperate enough to repeat the request with his dying breaths.

_"Forgive me!"_ he begged, gasping, eyes shut tightly in something far more excruciating than physical pain.

Unable to deny him, even if it wasn't her place to say, she whispered softly, "You're forgiven, Severus. You've been forgiven."

As if that had been permission he'd long been waiting for, he sighed and grew very still…

Hermione couldn't help the overflow of tears, or the shuddering of her breath, or the almost unbearable constriction of her whole chest. The pain of it overwhelmed her.

Through the shuddering and sputtering coughs of suppressed sobs, Hermione looked down at him, trying to gain enough control of herself to finally do something she'd always wanted.

Reaching out, she combed her shaky fingers through his hair before she leaned over and placed a kiss on his brow.

"_Thank you_…" she whispered.

.

It had been a struggle for Hermione to come to grips with the fact that Severus Snape was dead, and yet there still was a battle to be fought and won.

Which they did.

To Hermione, reflecting on it later, everything that happened after was a bit hazy in her memory. She couldn't recall the details with the vivid accuracy that she could those minutes in the Shrieking Shack. All that followed was just a phantasmagoria. Ron killing Nagini; Voldemort casting the killing curse at Harry; Harry surviving yet again as the horcrux within him was destroyed. People cheering, people weeping. Fawkes the phoenix reappearing after a year, soaring overhead, singing.

.

The extravagance of the collective celebration was matched only by the mourning. Those who had been lucky enough to have not lost any loved ones threw parties, sang songs, and wanted to honour the heroes. These sensible people who had stayed quietly in their homes, afraid, now had no need to fear. Those who had lost as much as they gained found it difficult to feel so triumphant on a public scale when they'd experienced such personal defeats, such painful losses.

.

The survivors of the final battle gathered in the Great Hall, ignoring the debris.

The Weasleys were grief-stricken having lost one of their own, and Ron went to be with them. Harry and Hermione, having no one but themselves to turn to, waved off the many people who wanted to talk to them, to Harry especially, and together the two of them retreated to now empty boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.

They didn't talk, not about defeating Voldemort and not about what they'd seen in Snape's memories.

She didn't think she _could_ talk about it, even if Harry had wanted to.

Thinking about what they'd seen in the pensieve broke Hermione's heart. All that time she'd spent with Severus Snape she'd never known, hadn't the smallest idea of all that was in his past. And yet in a way she wasn't surprised at all. She knew how deeply loyal he was. She knew how steadfast, how caring, how dedicated he was. The fact that all that devotion had been for one woman for several decades…

Hermione was aggrieved, knowing he'd been suffering from incurable heart-sickness for so many years. Hermione felt as if she'd taken in all his pain and loneliness, as if she'd inherited it from him upon his death.

Though she knew it wasn't really _his _pain she felt. She didn't mourn the loss of Lily Potter, she grieved for Severus Snape himself.

She hadn't realised just how much she cared for him, how painful it was to lose him. _And to think this is how he must have felt ever since her death…_

Hermione imagined his daily anguish, and cried. Cried for how miserable and unhappy Severus Snape had always been, and cried that he was gone.

.

The third day after the battle found Ron and Hermione sitting soberly in the library of Grimmauld Place as Kreature served them bacon sandwiches from a silver tray. Little by little, snippets filtered through the small everyday things. In between sips of tea, Harry casually thanked both Ron and Hermione for sticking with him to the end. They hummed, nodded and sipped in response. Not making a big deal of it. Hermione had casually praised Ron for his quick action in beheading Nagini when the giant serpent seemed to be going after her. He'd shrugged it off as if it were a trifle.

When both boys had thanked her... _For going off and getting the sword to us. Or rather, having your otter show us the way... _Hermione said nothing.

Couldn't.

She _hadn't_ given them the sword.

Strange; she only now thought to wonder how the boys had come to have it... Everything happened at once it was impossible to follow all of it. True, she had separated from the boys earlier on to retrieve the sword, but she hadn't succeeded.

She hadn't been able to find _him_ in time.

Nor had she sent her patronus…

The realisation that eventually dawned made the ever-present ache in her chest more acute and yet more tender than ever. The syllogism was simple and sweet. Snape had the sword. The boys followed an otter to find it. Hence, Snape's patronus was an otter.

The secret knowledge that Severus Snape had come to associate _her_ with safety and protection was an honour she would always cherish, along with his memory. His patronus, in the end, had symbolised _her_. _She_ had been his truest ally. His greatest source of comfort.

Out of everything she'd ever done, _that_ seemed to be her greatest achievement, what most filled her with pride and accomplishment.

A knock sounded, not at the front door, but at the library door, indicating that the visitor was a member of the Order.

"Come in," Harry bade.

A busy and flustered looking Minerva McGonagall entered, begging pardon for interrupting but insisting that she'd just heard news that all three of them would want to hear before she went off to go see him herself.

"He's alive," she babbled. "Fawkes. Loyalty to Albus. Phoenix tears..."

Hermione didn't catch the rest of the hurried, stumbling speech, but she'd gathered all she needed.

_He's alive._

.

**SS**

.

Minerva. He had been expecting and dreading her visit. But he'd known she would come to him at Spinner's End, once she learned the truth.

Their conversation was awkward, stilted, forced. He knew the apology was imminent when tears formed in her eyes. She went on and on, as did her tears, as she spoke of how she found out he was alive (the portrait of him remained inanimate in the Headmaster's office.) She recounted what Dumbledore's portrait had said of him, his steadfast loyalty, of how much they all owed him, of how horrible she felt for the way she'd treated him. He'd listened to her weepy speech occasionally humming in agreement or denial, not really wanting to be any part of this conversation.

"When I think of you... all alone…" Minerva said, pressing the corner of a tartan handkerchief to her leaking eyes.

"I wasn't alone," he interrupted.

Severus realised he'd put more animation in that one line than he had all his other statements combined. No, he hadn't been alone, but he certainly was now...

Minerva blinked, utterly surprised. "Oh." It took another moment for her to compose herself. "I'm glad of it for you, Severus. But could you not have confided in me, as well?"

"Albus ordered me not to tell anyone."

"But you told at least _one_ person…"

"I didn't _confide_ in her, she just…" _Believed in me. _Severus didn't say that aloud though. In fact, he regretted revealing even her gender.

"I'm so sorry, Severus. I should have trusted you too," Minerva declared, having correctly assumed what he'd been about to say. "Instead I was beastly to you."

"You were meant to be." Severus would never admit that he'd secretly harboured the hope that Minerva, at least, would have seen through it all. But that hope had been crushed, along with any esteem he'd had for her.

"Can you ever forgive me, Severus?" she pleaded.

Yes. He could, simply because he hadn't the energy for grudges anymore. He would let everything go. "Of course," he replied. "All is forgiven."

Minerva tried to smile, but was all too aware of the coldness in his tone.

"In that case, would you consider coming back to Hogwarts? As Headmaster or professor. You could teach Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts, as you always wanted."

"No. I'm finished, Minerva. Finally finished." Nothing could induce him to go back to Hogwarts ever again.

Minerva finally took her leave when he'd simply stopped responding to her questions.

.

He was all alone now; except his loneliness would be brought into sharper relief against all the happiness and celebration of the rest of the world. He couldn't be happy, only relieved that there was nothing left to live for. He'd been used and used, and now he was used up. He was no good to anyone anymore. Now that the war was over at last he could finally stop. Severus felt he deserved a rest.

He had many poisons, it would be simple. He'd put it in his wine, turn on the wireless, sit in front of the fire, drink it down and simply go to sleep and never wake up. That seemed just about perfect.

Severus had made up his mind. He went in search of just the right brew, the right wine, the right station.

.

He uncorked a bottle of _vin rouge_ as gentle music floated in from the sitting room. He poured himself a single glass. His first in years. He took a sip then stood there a moment, savouring the taste as he caressed the smaller deadly phial. His reward. _Peace_.

Severus popped the cork and poured a sufficient amount of the lethal liquid into his wine glass. He swirled it, flaring his nostrils at the delicate bouquet, unchanged by the recent addition.

He felt calming warmth spread through him, though it was quite unrelated to the peace and satisfaction of knowing he was almost home. He reached into his robes. Withdrawing his pocket-watch he eyed the heated sickle, then the poisoned drink; looking back and forth between the two trying to make a decision. He could still taste the wine fresh on his tongue, tempting him to have more. Finally, however, he put down the glass, put on his cloak, and apparated back to the place he never thought he'd return. It seemed that he had one last thing he needed to do before finishing his wine. She alone was worth the delay.

.

_~Finite Incantatem~_


End file.
